notes: I'm so sorry this has taken so long to write and post to you all. I had initially wanted to finish the epilogue and post it as one complete work, however it has stretched longer than I anticipated and I don't think it is fair to keep you guys waiting. I know it might be annoying that I'm posting this epilogue as two parts, so forgive me for that, but it might be more enjoyable this way.
warnings: some warnings have been omitted in order not to spoil parts of the story, dissociation, descriptions of episodes of depression, instances of PTSD, mentions of pregnancy, lots of angst and emotion, grief.
••••••
When you arrive back to your home in Jackson the first thing you do is take a shower. You strip the layers of clothes from your body and leave them discarded on the floor in the corner, too tired to bother putting them in the clothes hamper. You remove the necklace from your neck and toss it ontop of the pile of clothes.
You stand under the blasting stream of hot water and groan with appreciative satisfaction as it pours along your neck and down your back. You lather your hands with a bar of soap and drag it over your arms and chest, then your legs and the rest of your body. You bow your head to watch the diluted soapy mix of blood and dirt swirl around your feet before disappearing down the drain. You stay under the water until every inch of your body is clean.
Your brain is blank, operating on autopilot, and all the scarce remaining energy within you is channelled into each slow, deliberate movement of your limbs. After the shower you dress in an old shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, then you pad to the kitchen to see what you can eat. Maria had dropped off a stew earlier, when you had just returned back home - she had lingered at your doorstep, concern etched all over her pretty features, only leaving once you reassured her you'd be okay alone.
You stand in the kitchen and eat a few spoonfuls of stew directly from the pot. Although you haven't eaten a full meal for several days your appetite is dulled by exhaustion, and a few bites seem to suffice, sating the twisting hunger pains in your stomach.
The lure of sleep is too inticing and powerful to resist any longer, and so you half stumble to your bedroom to finally collapse into your bed. Both your body and mind are so overcome with fatigue that you slip into a black dreamless state as soon as your head hits the pillow. You sleep for 12 straight hours.
••••••
The first few days pass by in a blur. Maria and Tommy take turns stopping by each day to check up on you, a meal from the mess hall always in hand. You barely talk during their visits, purposely avoiding their pitying and worried expressions. They don't hang around for long, just enough to check that you are coping and not in need of anything. They want you to take some time off work for a while, they say. You don't bother to protest.
During those first days your friends stop by several times, but you don't answer their knocks on your door. You aren't ready to socialise with anyone and you know they will overwhelm you with a myriad of questions about things that you have no desire to talk about. Tommy or Maria must tell them as much, for the knocks eventually cease, leaving you to the quiet comfort of your self imposed isolation.
You wake, eat as much of the food as you can stomach, then go back to sleep. This cycle continues for a week. On the seventh day you wake up feeling less disconnected from reality, your brain and body more refreshed, a calm clarity flooding through your system. But the feeling is short lived, for as soon as your feet touch the bedroom floor you find yourself retching. You blindly rush to the toilet just in time to vomit a heap of yellow bile into the bowl. You gasp in between heaves, sweat beads forming along your hairline, and it doesn't take long for your stomach to empty itself from the gross acidic liquid.
Maybe you ate too much last night. Maybe the tomatoes in the stew were too acidic for your stomach. You'll have to be more careful next time.
You force yourself to take a shower, desperate for the relief the hot water grants your body. You stay under the stream until the hot water runs out, then quickly bundle yourself in a towel and go to get dressed. You still have no intention of leaving the house, for facing the world outside seems impossible right now - you want to remain in the cosy security of your cocoon for a little while longer. You make a mental note to do a load of laundry later and dress in a fresh set of pyjamas.
Today you opt for a change of scenery and decide to totter out to the living room and laze in your armchair. Your brain no longer feels so foggy, so you might even try reading a new book, if you feel ambitious enough. There's still a couple of library books on your shelf that you have yet to finish. You are just about to take a seat when a knock comes at your door - Tommy or Maria, no doubt.
You are shocked when you swing the door open and find Ellie on your doorstep. She looks dejected and uncertain, as though she isn't really sure why she's arrived at your home. She looks like an anxious child as she shifts her weight between her feet.
"Hey," she mumbles, her eyes not quite meeting yours.
"Hi," you whisper back. There's an awkward pause as you wait for her to speak. You've known Ellie long enough to know that she's struggling to articulate what she wants to say. You can't help feeling sorry for her - she must have so many questions and thoughts running through her mind, so many conflicting emotions battling inside her heart.
If it were anyone else on your doorstep you would turn them away, but you feel like you owe it to Ellie to talk. You invite her inside and insist on making a pot of tea for you both to share.
"You look like shit," she quips as she follows you inside.
There's no malice in her voice; she's making a simple observation, and you're sure you do indeed look horrible. You haven't looked in the mirror since you've been back. Maybe you've been afraid of what you would see reflected back at you, that you will finally be confronted with the shame and guilt and misery that you've been suppressing.
"Why did you leave?" She asks sharply, leaning against the kitchen counter as she watches you prepare the tea. The safety of your home seems to have granted Ellie the confidence she needed, you think wryly.
You clear your throat, conscious of how rough your voice sounds from lack of use.
"Joel wanted to find somewhere else to live for a while," you answer surprisingly smooth, not meeting her eye. It is the first time you have spoken his name and the word feels strange on your tongue. You fill a small saucepan with water, empty some tea leaves into it and then and set it on the stove.
"You didn't even say goodbye," she shoots back quickly, an edge of accusation in her voice. The hurt is evident in her voice; she probably thinks you willingly left without saying farewell to her.
"I didn't want to go," you reply softly. You turn the flame of the stove on and glance over to her. "I wouldn't have left without saying goodbye. You know that, Ellie."
Ellie stares at you for a moment with an air of wariness about her, a slight pout formed on her young face. She looks like she wants to believe you but something is holding her back.
"Did he make you?" She asks quietly.
Her question makes your stomach clench. You don't want to denigrate Joel or expose the ugly truth of his actions, you think you might too tired to be tactful or diplomatic for long. You wonder if she's heard any talk around the town. You wouldn't be surprised if there is gossip being spread around.
You understand that she must be feeling frustrated, that she probably hasn't had anyone around to talk about it all with. *Poor Ellie*, you think. You resolve to try your best to provide a safe space for her, as long as she doesn't probe you too much.
"Yes," you answer simply. "But he wasn't in a good place mentally after your....argument. He wasn't thinking clearly."
"He never thinks - he just does whatever the fuck he wants, without even thinking about anyone else!" Ellie bursts out angrily. She crosses her arms and huffs out an irritated grumble. "He's a fuckin' psycho."
You sigh softly and pull two mugs out from one of the kitchen cupboards. You have nothing to say back to that, nothing to argue in response. You cannot deny she speaks the truth atleast to some extent.
A tense minute of silence passes between you before Ellie speaks again.
"Did he hurt you?"
It catches you off guard. Your movements falter, your grip on the mugs wavering slight. The ceramic clink sharply together and you have to quickly set them on the counter before they fall to the ground. You glance at her and try to school your expression to one of confusion. She meets your eyes with unwavering focus, sharp and expectant.
"No," you blurt a little too sharply. "I mean, what do you mean?"
"I mean, did he hurt you?" Ellie says slowly, empathically, a biting edge to her voice.
Ofcourse he had, but what would the point be to expose her to that truth? It wouldn't fix anything - it would only further damage the already shattered foundation of her relationship with Joel and cause her to feel more animosity toward him. Why add more fuel to the fire?
Besides, just to what extent Joel *had* infact hurt you, both physically and emotionally, was *your* pain to bear, *your* trauma, and the thought of sharing it with anyone felt wrong.
"No," you answer flatly, the lie slipping from your tongue with surprising ease. "He didn't."
You both fall silent, unsure what to say next. The atmosphere in the small space of the kitchen becomes thick, like the two of you are holding your breath. Then the water begins to boil and you quickly act to remove it from the stove, grateful for the distraction. You position a steel strainer over one of the mugs and pour the water through it, then do the same with the second mug.
"Did you love him?" Ellie asks, her voice now low and gentle. She looks down at the ground, too vulnerable to meet your eyes.
"I did," you respond in a soft whisper, eyes fixed on the tea. "I really did."
When you're finished, you slide one of the mugs over the Ellie. She tentatively looks up at you as she grips the handle of the mug.
"And now," she questions with the slight raise of an eyebrow. "Do you still love him? Or do you hate him?"
You pick up your mug and give a delicate blow on the liquid. "No, I don't hate him," you admit in a hushed voice. You ignore the question about love.
"Well I do," Ellie growls, her face suddenly darkening into a contemptous frown. "He's a fuckin' liar."
You shake your head gently and look back up at her. "He loves you more than anything in this world, El. I'm sure he had good reason to do what he did."
"Bullshit!" She scoffs angrily. "He was just too selfish to tell me the truth."
"He probably wanted to protect you. He would die if anything were to happen to you." You try to reason. You still don't know the exact details of what happened, so you hazard a guess at what Joel's justification would be. "He was probably scared he would lose you if you knew the truth."
Ellie says nothing and walks from the kitchen to the living room with the mug in her hands, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it down. You follow her and the two of you sit on the couch, one on either end.
"I just feel so betrayed," she admits, her voice low and laced with frustration and pain. "Like, he fuckin' lied to me all this time. And I knew something wasn't right, you know? I fuckin' knew it."
You nod slowly to indicate you're listening, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing in your insides over the fact you had just lied to her yourself. Ellie looks down at her cup of tea and shakes her head bitterly.
"I'm so angry at him," she mutters.
"You are allowed to be angry, El. People make mistakes. Maybe you need to talk to him, hear it from his perspective."
Ellie takes a slurp of her tea. "I dunno. I got no idea when that will be. Uncle Tommy says he's not coming back."
You say nothing. You knew that Joel wasn't going to be back in Jackson for a while, if ever - Tommy had told you so when you returned, an effort on his part to reassure you that you would be safe. You were neither relieved nor pleased to hear the news. In fact, since being back you hadn't had much of a chance to process what had happened to you, or your feelings. Everything has been locked away deep inside you, self preservation working overtime.
"You and Joel aren't together any more, are you?" Ellie questions hesitantly.
You both stare down at the mugs of tea in your hands, too uncomfortable to meet each other's eyes.
"No, we aren't," you reply simply, your voice devoid of any affection.
"I guess you don't wanna see me anymore, seein' he won't be around." Ellie mumbles.
"Oh, El," you breathe out, trying hard not to let the pity you feel cloud your expression when you finally look over at her. "Whatever happened between Joel and I...that doesn't affect our friendship. I will always want to see you. You mean so much to me. "
It is the most sentimental and emotive you have ever been with the teenager and you are unsure how she will react to such an emotional display. Ellie has never been the kind to express anything sugarcoated, and she rarely communicates without her usual sparkling wit or sarcasm. You worry that you've crossed a boundary with her.
There's a few beats of loaded silence between you, then she gives a little sniff and nods her head once, still not meeting your gaze.
"Good," she says plainly, maintaining a detached exterior.
You swear you can detect the slightest trace of relief in her voice. You don't push the topic any further. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while and sip from your mugs of tea. Neither of you mention Joel again. Ellie gives you a tight hug when she departs from your home and you sense the great unspoken affection within the gesture. You give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, a reassurance that you will always be there for her, and when she leaves you feel a tiny ache of tenderness inside your heart.
••••••
Although Tommy tried his best to downplay the whole saga, Joel's absence within the patrolling community became somewhat of a scandal. Tommy had to call a meeting amongst all the patrolmen to address the rumours and gossip that had been circulating. He asserted that Joel was in good health but needed a break from others for a while; he would be living outside the gates for the foreseeable future but would be actively communicating through radio and keeping watch from his remote location. The exaplanation seemed to appease everyone's curiosity and the community eventually continued on without dispute.
It wasn't a lie, either.
Initially he was going to stay at the raider's cabin alone but Tommy convinced him to live closer to the settlement with the reasoning that it was safer and he would have access to food and supplies when needed. Although Tommy was disgusted and horrified by the snippet of insight into Joel's abusive behaviour towards you, he still cared about his older brother. He didn't feel right about Joel living so far away, isolated and alone. He worried that Joel's already precarious mental state could easily worsen if he was left by himself without any purpose in his life.
Joel agreed to act as a sentry at the cabin checkpoint a few miles outside Jackson. He and Tommy remained in contact through a radio walkie talkie to report any signs of danger around the area. It was a beneficial arrangement for everyone; it afforded Jackson extra security and in exchange Joel was issued a ration of food supplies once a fortnight, delivered by Tommy.
It went without saying that Joel shouldn't step foot through the gates of Jackson so soon after what happened. Tommy couldn't trust that Joel wouldn't do something reckless if he did and Tommy wanted to respect you and your right to feel safe.
But to his surprise it was Joel himself who voiced that it wasn't a good idea for him to be in the community. Joel just couldn't be around people for a while. He needed space and time to himself, away from forced social interactions, away from all the guilt and shame, the ruination of his life.
Joel didn't admit it to Tommy but another reason for his self imposed exclusion was because he couldn't bear the thought of seeing you or Ellie. He was sure he would die on the spot if he caught a glimpse of either of you. Witnessing either of you continuing your lives without him would only serve to prove that neither of you needed him, and for Joel that would be akin to torture.
He spends his days in the small cabin by himself, the radio walkie talkie serving as the only connection to what had been his home for the last five years. He patrols the surrounding area twice a day. Tommy gave him a few paperback books to read to pass the time, and Joel ends up reading and rereading them within a couple of weeks. He savours his rationed food and eats modest meals, the only remotely comforting thing he seems to have out in the wilderness.
You should be here with him. This is what his plan had been all along - living a simple and quiet life surrounded by nature, far away from everyone else, just you and he. He feels frustrated and angry; *no*, he's actually *fucking shattered*, completely, to the point of abject dissociation.
You're back in Jackson, living your life without him, probably so carefree and happy that he wouldn't even recognise your smiling face as belonging to the woman whom he had loved so passionately. Ellie would be the same, so young and exuberant, not missing his presence for even a second. He imagines the two of you going about your day, laughing and spending time with your friends, Elle rearing the sheep while you tended to the children's education.
Joel is often lost in nostalgic daydreams about you and Ellie during the daylight hours. He reminisces about the times he spent teaching Ellie chords on his guitar and the movie nights where they would watch the same VHS tapes over and over in the living room. He thinks about the all the times they shared dinner together while Ellie recited ridiculous jokes and anecdotes. Those memories make Joel smile. Oh, how he wish he could experience them again.
The memories of you, however, are far more painful than pleasant. He thinks about the early days when you first starting seeing each other, how passionate and romantic it had been in the beginning. He recalls the infatuation written all over your face, all shy smiles and giggles, your supple lips against his.
His heart and body ache as he remembers the feel of you in his hands, pliable and eager to please, so willing to submit to him. He misses the softness of your skin and the taste of your mouth, the wet warmth of your cunt and your sweet moans in his ear. Sometimes he jerks his cock with your name on his lips, luxuriating in that moment of fleeting pleasure before he's left feeling empty and pathetic once more.
He dreams about the two of you almost every night. Some dreams are like nightmares; recreations of you and Ellie turning and walking away from him while he was unable to move, his feet cemented to the ground and leaving him helpless and hysterical. Those dreams leave him with that familiar gut wrenching devastation which cause him to jolt awake gasping, his cheeks already wet with salty tears.
In those times Joel reaches across the bed in blind search of your body, desperate to feel the weight of you next to him. He had never acknowledged it but your presence in his bed had been a source of comfort to him, especially during the nights when peaceful sleep would evade him. Now you are gone from his life and his bed, he feels more alone than ever.
He has other dreams, rare ones where you and Ellie forgive him and hug him and kiss his cheeks. Those are far more bearable. After those happy dreams he wakes feeling just a little less glum, just a little more inspired to keep living. The fantasies become persistent, chasing after him through the day as well as the night, never giving him reprieve for very long.
Despite his longing, Joel doesn't look at the polaroids. He doesn't allow himself to hold your panties in his calloused grasp or to twirl your ribbon around his fingers. He doesn't even open the shoebox once.
*
After wallowing in seclusion for another week you decide you need to get on with your life. Knowing you can't avoid people for much longer, you arrange for your friends to come visit you one afternoon to debrief them on everything that has happened. You dread it more than anything but you feel too guilty to keep evading them, knowing they are patiently waiting in the background for you to finally come to them and share your experience.
The group of women surround you in your cramped living room and cling to every word you speak, fascinated yet astounded by your story. You reiterate that Joel forced you to leave town when he was distressed and not thinking straight, that you hadn't wanted to go when you did. You omit so much, lie through the grit of you teeth so often, that it feels like a performance of sorts. You hate yourself for it.
You tell them you and Joel are over and that you just want to move on. You try your best to don a fake smile. The women seem to accept what you say and don't ask too many questions. You catch Kate gazing at you pensively a few times, her expression unreadable, but you pretend not to notice.
The next morning you wake up with an itching compulsion to deep clean the entirety of your home, like a switch has been flicked inside your brain. Your body feels recovered and revitalised enough now, so you leap up and get straight to work cleaning your cottage from top to bottom.
You strip your bed sheets and put on new ones before rearranging the position of your bed and your set of draws. You scrub your bathroom and sweep and wash all the floors. You dust every surface and wash down the windows inside and out. You wipe down the kitchen from top to bottom and reorganise your pantry.
You work on autopilot as you move throughout the cottage completing each task. You are methodical and focused, so preoccupied with cleaning that your brain disengages from anything else. You continue until you are exhausted, knees aching and finger joints tight, and the fresh scent of lemon permeates your cottage. You meander between each room to survey your hard work, soaking up the gratification that comes from the knowledge that your space was now cleansed. It feels purified and fresh, untainted by the lingering energy of anyone else.
Like Joel.
His name echoes in your mind, causing an involuntary shiver to crawl up your spine. You suddenly become hyperaware of your own unwashed state, the dried sweat and muck on your skin and clothes now feeling unbearable. You quickly make your way to the bathroom and tear off your clothes, reminding yourself to do a load of laundry later.
You turn on the shower and wait for the hot water to kick in. As you stand there naked, ready to step into the alcove, an abrupt wave of nausea knocks you to your knees. You steady yourself on your hands and gag and dry heave, but nothing comes up. The queasiness eventually passes, leaving your body trembling and depleted.
You should have eaten something more substantial today.
You crawl into the shower and sit against the tiled wall, pulling your knees up to your chest. You wrap your arms around your legs and bow your head, letting the water cascade over you and fill your ears with a dull roar.
Only in this moment, when you feel so *alone* and vulnerable and weak, do you weep for the first time since coming back home. You cry for Oscar and the wretched way he died, for the immense guilt you feel that he died as a result of trying to help you. You cry for the memories of your days together, light hearted and joyful. You cry for the loss of a close friend, a shining light of hope in your life, for all that could have been.
And at last you cry, ugly and unabashed, at the realisation to why you've been feeling so ill, why your belly has recently started to swell.
••••••
2 months later
Joel is sat at the square table by the cabin window, a small handled blade in one of his wide hands. He studies the little chunk of wood in his other hand, rubbing his thumb over its smooth underside. He has only just started this new project but it is quickly taking shape. He hasn't yet decided if this new figurine will be a black bear or a panda.
He has recently taken up whittling, a hobby that he used to dabble in but hasn't indulged in for a few years now. There are so many hours in the day and patrolling and checking traps hardly puts a dent in the passage of time. The nights are even worse, seeming to tick by agonisingly slow, magnifying the cold empty space in his bed and within his heart. Whittling has become one way to distract himself from the pain, even if only for an hour at a time.
Joel carves and chips at the wood with surprisingly dexterity considering the size of his hands. He holds the wood with a gentle kind of reverence as he carefully shaves and shapes with his knife, his tongue lodged in his cheek while he concentrates.
Oh, how he wishes Ellie could see the latest piece he accomplished. It sits on the windowsill beside him, watching on as he works; a regal looking hawk perched on the top of a tree branch, it's proud chest puffed and its beady gaze piercing. He knows she would love it. He would be kidding himself to think he created it without her in mind.
Joel wonders what figure he would whittle for you. A cat, maybe. Or a turtle dove. Something more delicate and pretty thank eagle. You imagines presenting it to you, how your face would light up in delighted surprise and you'd kiss him and cling to him and----
Except that won't happen, ever, he inwardly scolds himself. You fucked it all up.
Why didn't he this sooner? Why didn't he do something romantic like this earlier, when you were still his, when you still loved him? Why had he never made more of an effort to show you his love, in ways that weren't fueled by aggression and his need to dominate? He had always been so scared of losing control that he didn't allow, himself to open up, to show that side of himself to you, not until it was too late. Not until after he *raped* you.
He had everything he ever wanted with you and he lost it all. He lost *you*. Just like he lost everything and everyone else.
Joel frowns and shakes his head irritability, his self hatred smouldering like a hot coal. Living a solitary existence in the checkpoint cabin has given Joel more than an ample amount of time to reflect on the past, on his actions and the consequences of all his deeds. Sometimes he thinks he is slowly going mad, for he has not been alone like he is now for a very, very long time, and the solitude can be defeaning. It is peculiar for him not to have you or Ellie around, and some times he has to remind himself that he is no longer in Jackson, that he isn't just simply waiting for either one of you to finish work and come back home to him.
He's alone, completely and utterly.
It gives him time to think of the people in his life who have been significant to him, who he has loved in one way or another, the people who have managed to carve a home inside his heart. The ones whose faces and voices have been etched into his brain, haunting him like ghosts of the past.
He thinks of Sarah and her killer smile, of all the happy memories they shared as she grew up. He's able to smile at those memories of being a single father to such a beautiful girl, comforted to know that he did his best to be the best parent he could.
But it doesn't take long for those joyful recollections to become overshadowed by the feelings of panic and anguish that still seem so real even after more than 20 years have passed. He tries to push them from his mind but it seems impossible, like the repressed pain can no longer be subjugated and imprisoned in the deep recesses of his consciousness.
The agony rips right through Joel when he remembers the worst day of his life - the day his child was shot dead right infront of his own eyes. It tears his heart to shreds to recall the harrowing moment he held his dead child in his arms. He failed to protect her and keep her safe, failed to uphold such a crucial and fundamental part of being a father.
Joel's self hatred festers and grows inside his chest. He feels it creep up from his ribcage, like noxious black tendrils, to curl around his neck. It is suffocating, threatening to choke all the breath from his body.
I'm so sorry, babygirl. I'm so sorry.
The emotions he has stifled for so many years are finally unleashed and he cannot stop the torrent of tears that come flooding. He can no longer stop the deep seated guilt and sadness from rising up and swallowing him. He ends up on the bed, curled into himself, weeping for what seems like hours. He cries like he cried when you turned and walked away from him for the very last time. He buries his face in his hands and cries and howls until his guts and sternum feel hollow and his stomach threatens to retch.
Joel remains in bed long after his tears cease. His entire body feels drained and limp but the weight of grief has been lightened somewhat; there's an almost serene, numbed sensation cloaking him and he no longers feels like he is drowning or that his brain is short circuiting. It is a strange feeling, one that he is conscious of but uncertain of how to process. The respite from the heavy emotions stretches across several days, granting Joel some peace inside his mind.
The bouts of intense sorrow happen several times more. Like waves along the ocean shore, the grief comes crashing down and washes over him. He no longer fights it, instead letting it engulf him until he cries and releases the pressure of the agony that has accumulated within him. Each time the sadness ebbs away, Joel feels that same sedated solace envelope him.
He occasionally thinks of Tess, of the last words she spoke to him before he was forced to abandon her. *Save who you can.* He had always remembered her words, using it as the ammunition he needed to continue powering along to complete his mission of transporting Ellie to Marlene. And even though Ellie now hates him for murdering the Fireflies and lying to her, Joel feels not a shred of regret for his decision to protect her existence and save her. He fucking saved her, and in turn saved them both, for he would have surely died had she been sacrificed for a shot at curing the dreaded cordyceps infection.
Tess's parting words echo in Joel's ears whenever he thinks of that fateful day at the raider's cabin - the day when Oscar tried to save you and died, when Tommy led a rescue mission to find you, when he had ended up losing you forever. He had failed to protect you from that raider, to save you from whatever depraved things he has planning to do to you; it had been Oscar, his rival for your affection, that had been your hero. It still fills him with great shame to think of the way you yelled at him with so much rage, stupefying him with the acidic truth of your words.
"That raider could have killed us all! He was going to hurt me and you did nothing! Oscar saved me from that raider, not you!"
He failed you. He didn't protect you from his own failings as a man and partner. His need for control, borne from the trauma of losing Sarah, had overshadowed his ability to nurture and cherish you. He's painfully cognisant of this now, only now it is too late to repair and heal your relationship.
Fuck.
He would do anything to show you how sorry he is, how much regret resides so deeply inside his soul to have hurt you. He would give anything for the chance to make up for everything he ever did to you, for one last chance to hold your face in the palms of his hands and kiss your lips and whisper his apologies.
It has been just over two months since Joel has seen your face. He can still picture you as clear as day, though. Your face is burned into his memory, all the defining features of your image; the plumpness of your bottom lip and the wide set of yours eyes, the shape of your nose and the angle of your jaw, the arch of your brows and the curve of your chin. He wonders if he will ever lay his eyes upon them ever again.
••••••
Nights are difficult for you to endure these days. Sleep is elusive, a goal you chase for hours as you toss and turn in your bed. When you do finally grasp a few hours of sleep you rarely get a decent nights rest. Sometimes you're plagued by flashbacks of the raider and his filthy face, his burning malevolent eyes and his rotted teeth. Sometimes you dream of Oscar dying in your arms and you wake up crying.
You occasionally dream of Joel. They aren't dreams of him tying you up or loading you in the wagon, or being rough and cruel with you. In fact the dreams featuring Joel are the most peaceful ones your brain seems to conjure; they are mundane situations where he's cuddling you on the couch or repairing broken furniture in your cottage, and he seems happy, even sometimes *smiling*. Sometimes two small children run into the room giggling, a boy and a girl with dark brown curly hair and large brown eyes.
More often than not you wake up with an aching pain inside your ribs. Your bed feels so spacious and cold. These deathly quiet late nights are the only time you allow yourself to consciously confess you miss Joel. You miss his warmth, the squeeze of his thick arms around your body. You miss the rise and fall of his chest against your back as he spoons you, the mumbled drawl of his accent in your ear when you are half asleep.
Each morning you draw the curtains open and allow the sun to imbue every room in your home with its golden yellow light. You open the windows and welcome the gentle breeze that drifts in, fresh and carrying the perfume of spring flowers from nearby gardens. You are determined to begin each day with a positive outlook, a sort of promise to keep your spirits afloat.
You had resumed your work duties once you felt mentally stable enough to be around other people. You still hadn't really processed much of what had happened at the raider's cabin, but by this point of time in your life your brain had adapted to managing trauma the best way it knew how; repression and compartmentalisation was sufficient enough to allow you to continue living without having a complete breakdown.
You slipped back into your role as a teacher relatively easily - the children showed no signs of knowing the real reason why you had been missing from school for a few days, and so their ignorance spared you any further discomfort. You enjoyed seeing their youthful faces light up with interest during the more exciting lesson plans, enjoyed hearing their cheeky laughter peel through the building and out into the yard.
You had dreaded going back to the library for the first time. When you unlocked the front door and passed through the threshold, the jingle of the bell above you caught you off guard. It's tinkling sound was like a stab to your heart.
*"Is it weird that I miss that sound?"*
You heard Oscar's voice echo in your mind and your eyes instantly filled with sadness. You slowly trailed through the library, running your fingers across the surface of the front counter, feeling like a ghost haunting an abandoned home. Although Oscar stopped working there some time before his death, you swear you could sense his presence within the nooks and crannies of the building; you half expected him to come strolling out from the back room with a book in hand and that characteristically charming grin on his face.
Except for Tommy no one had known about the love triangle between you, Oscar and Joel. As far as everyone in town knew, Oscar had died trying to rescue you and Joel after Joel had persuaded you to try living outside the gates. Oscar's body was transported back to Jackson and buried in the town cemetery as a hero. That's what everyone believed.
"Stop it," you had scolded yourself under your breath. *"He's gone."*
You got to work dusting down the shelves and straightening the books and comics, then you sorted through the stacks of returned books behind the counter. Sometime around the mid morning a trio of children entered into the library and rifled through the picture books, their giggles and chatter fill the quiet empty space, and you smiled to yourself.
The presence of the children around you made you contemplate just how proud you are to contribute to your community, how important your role is to help maintain a safe, happy place for people. This is what you want to live for, you think, to be a source of comfort and love in this apocalyptic world.
One of your hands trailed down to rest on your belly, warm and delicate. The telltale prick of impending tears stung your eyes and you sniffed them back. You're going to be strong, you promised yourself. You can be your own hero now. Oscar had helped you to realise just how special and important you are, and you owe it to him to keep living and being happy.
Besides, you've now got a whole new reason to be resilient.
After the initial shock and panic eventually ebbed away, you recognised deep down that you weren't irrevocably distressed at the thought of being pregnant. It may be an entirely unexpected and frightening prospect, but you feel no need to wallow in helplessness. You can't change what has happened. You draw strength from your acceptance of fate. You simply go on living, just as Oscar wanted you to.
You don't tell anyone. You feel the grip of paranoia every so often, worrying that people can see right through your exterior, and in those times you scurry back to the sanctuary of your home and isolate yourself until your next shift at the school or library. Kate and Rhi and Jess try to encourage you to be social and invite you to lunch and dinner dates and drinks at the Tipsy Bison - they never seem deterred by all the times you politely decline.
It takes two months of being back in Jackson for you to finally feel courageous enough to brave a community event. Your friend, Cassie, is finally getting married after all the months of planning and stress. You make the mammoth effort to disguise your pain and help organise her special day with the rest of your friends. You and Rhi endeavour to find enough pretty table cloths and flowers vases to decorate the town hall tables with, and the day before the event you and Kate collect enough flowers to design a stunning bouquet for Cassie to walk down the isle with.
The afternoon of the wedding is encumbered by a swell of stiflingly hot weather. The lack of breeze exacerbates the humidity and the only relief you can find is in the large pitcher of cool lemonade sitting infront of you on the table. You pour yourself another drink and relish the sound of the ice clinking as the sweet liquid spills into the glass.
"It's so fricken hot," Kate groans beside you. She unfurls a hand fan and begins to fan herself in a dramatic fashion. You watch her with an amused little smile. The fan is plastic with a pastel pink paper leaf, and considering its age it is in quite good condition. It matches the dusky pink colour of her blouse well. You yourself opted for a flowy skirt and top of a similar style in an effort to hide the slight bump of your tummy. You're grateful that you haven't had a bout of nausea so far this afternoon.
You take a big gulp of lemonade and hum with satisfaction at sensation of the cool drink sliding down into your belly. You lean back into your chair and nurse the glass on your lap and watch the wedding celebration taking place all around you.
The town hall is brimming with wedding guests; some sit at the clusters of tables arranged around the open space in the middle, where people dance to country music played by the town band. It's a merry affair, carefree and jubilant, with everyone smiling and laughing. Cassie beams as she dances close to her groom in the centre of the hall. She wears a crown of different coloured flowers ontop of her head, a creation that you and Rhi helped to fashion for her special day. She makes a gorgeous bride, you think, like a fairy queen.
Her newly pronounced husband gazes at her face with open adoration. He only has eyes for her, not even paying attention to anyone else around them, as if they are the only people in the world. You're happy for your friend, that she's met someone who loves her so much. He's a good man. He's good to her. Perfect soul mates.
You aren't at all envious of Cassie, for she deserves to be happy, but there is undoubtedly a part of you that feels forlorn witnessing this celebration of love and matrimony. It's a bitter reminder of all that you have lost, of all the potential that never came to fruition, and of the dreams you had dared to dream before all the mess Joel put you through.
You feel the unexpected prick of tears filling your eyes. *Oh, not now. This isn't the time to cry.* You sniff and bow your head to discreetly swipe at your waterline but Kate notices what you're doing.
"Hey," she leans close to you and clasps her hand over your knee. "You okay?"
You aren't sure what to say to her. Yes, you are okay - on the surface, atleast. But on a more fundamental depth you aren't okay. You are still internally reeling from the trauma of what happened to you just two months ago. How can you tell your friend that your head and heart are still broken and jumbled, that you are still tormented by the death of the man who loved you so dearly and you him?
How can you tell her that despite everything Joel did to you over the past year, that his absence has left a painful emptiness within your life? How can you possibly describe these things to her when you yourself cannot fully comprehend your own feelings?
Lying is so much easier.
You dab at your nose with the back of your hand and raise your head. "Yeah, I'm okay," you answer. Kate leaves her hand on your knee and gives it a little squeeze.
"Look at me," she implores gently. You do as she asks, although there's a trace of shame in your expression as you do. She stares at you with concern and sincerity for a few moments, studying your face.
"It's okay not to be okay, you know?" Kate leans a little closer and lowers her voice. "You're allowed to be sad. You are allowed to grieve for a part of your life, even while you celebrate someone else's happiness."
Her sage words penetrate your carefully crafted facade of composure and strike at the raw wound deep inside your soul. Kate did always have a knack for summarising a complicated situation into a concise observation, but never in an insensitive manner. Her ability to read you causes a lump to swell in your throat and a fresh wave of tears to threaten to unleash.
You bow your head down once more, unable to meet her gaze any longer, and slip your hand over hers. Kate interlaces her fingers with yours and squeezes delicately. "You can be sad for as long as you need to be."
With her free hand she pours you another glassful of lemonade. You allow a few tears to fall before wiping them away and inwardly resolving to save them for the privacy of your bedroom late at night. You spend the rest of the wedding reception sipping lemonade with Kate and taking turns fanning each other, all while watching with delight as Rhi struts around the dance floor.
Life can be good, you think.
••••••
3 months later
The weeks following the wedding were when you really started to struggle with the pregnancy. You were regularly hit with nausea throughout the day, no matter how much you snacked, and you were constantly battling the urge to abandon your work shifts to go home and sleep. Was this normal? There were so many questions you had, so many things you wondered about. Was it normal for your breasts to feel so swollen? Was it concerning that all you wanted to eat was mashed potato and bread slathed with honey? Why did it sometimes feel as though your abdomen muscles were close to tearing apart?
You knew nothing of what to expect as your body was growing a new life. All of your scarce knowledge about pregnancy had come from an outdated book about women's health that you had found in the library. You studied your body in the mirror each morning, running your hands over your thickening abdomen, fretting over just how much longer you'd be able to hide your body until it would no longer be possible. You weren't sure how far along you could be - you couldn't remember when your last period was, so you couldn't really calculate an estimate.
There was no doubt that the weight of your secret was taking a toll on you mentally. There were times when you felt very alone, when you craved the comfort that comes after sharing your woes and worries with someone trusted. It was becoming too much for you to bear by yourself.
You thought of the people in your life that you would approach for help, who you felt you could trust to protect you and offer you the understanding and wisdom you so needed right now. It didn't take long for you to arrive at the natural conclusion that Tommy and Maria would be the first people you wanted to confide in.
They were trustworthy people, two important pillars in the Jackson community, always looking out for the wellbeing of others.Tommy had led the rescue mission that had ultimately saved you, and Maria had nurtured you when you came back to town. They also had children of their own and could counsel you about all the questions and issues that were causing you to toss and turn in bed every night.
You had planned to announce the news one evening at their home, when Ellie was present. You wanted the three of them to know first - it seemed appropriate considering you were all connected to Joel in some way, making you like a surrogate family.
You sit on the couch in their living room now, twisting your hands in your lap, steeling yourself for their unpredicted reactions.
"So why'd you ask to see us?" Maria prompts, angling her body to face you. "Is everything okay?"
You glance up at Tommy standing across the room. He is watching you with that characteristic expression of his, eyebrows knitted together and his beautiful dark eyes full of concern. Ellie sits in the armchair beside him, her eyebrows raised, awaiting your response. You take in a sharp breath of air and the answer comes tumbling from your mouth, candid and without emotion.
"I'm pregnant."
Maria is known for being a composed, staunch woman, however, your revelation has her demeanour momentarily slipping; her eyes widen and her mouth falls open in shock, a tiny gasp escaping from her. Ellie's reaction is similar, with her fingertips coming up to cover the bottom half of her face. Tommy suddenly expels a choked splutter, as if he has something lodged in his throat.
"Fffuuuuuck," Ellie manages to exclaim through her flabbergasted state. "Is it Joel's?"
"Ellie," Tommy mumbles in an embarrassed tone, shooting her a reproachful glare. Ellie gives him a theatrical shrug and gesticulates to you.
"What's wrong with asking that? She could've totally got a secret boyfriend since she's been back!" Ellie cocks her head to the side. "So uh, do you?"
"No, Ellie," you answer dryly. "It's Joel's baby."
"So are you gonna tell him?" Ellie leans forward in the armchair with her elbows resting on her knees. "Do you want him to know?"
You look down at your hands in your lap and give a little shrug. "Probably not right now," you admit quietly. "I don't know if it's a good idea."
"Whatever your decision, we will support you completely," Maria asserts firmly, reaching over to clasp her hand over yours. "We are here for you, whatever you need."
You glance up at her and give her a small smile, hoping she can recognise the relief and gratitude you feel at her words. "Thank you," you reply shyly.
"So you're just going to keep it a secret from Joel? Even though he's the father?" Ellie suddenly spits out, disapproval and disgust heavy on her tongue. You look at her as she casts her piercing gaze around the three of you. "More secrets?"
You know Ellie is still feeling sensitive about Joel lying about the real events at the hospital. You can understand why the idea of you concealing your own truth is triggering for her. But her outburst takes you by surprise, her disdain stinging you like the tail of a scorpion.
"Just for now, Ellie. It's for the best. Please don't be upset."
Tommy seems to snap out of his daze, the tension in the room prompting him to intercede. He stands up straighter and clears his throat to address Ellie. "Now El, that's her choice to make and she's got her reasons for it. Ain't no one else's opinion matters right now."
"He's right, Ellie," Maria interjects, calm and gentle. "Pregnancy can be a very challenging experience for a woman, not just physically but emotionally and mentally. If keeping the news confidential gives her reassurance that she's safe, then we should support that."
Your heart swells with appreciation for Maria. You turn your hand over to curl your fingers through hers. "Thank you," you whisper.
Ellie stands up from the couch unceremoniously, mumbling an excuse that she needs to go see her friend Dina. Her attitude hurts but you cannot blame her for feeling how she does. She doesn't look at any of you before she stalks out of the living room and slams the front door shut after her, the force of it reverberating through the house. You flinch and Maria gives your hand a comforting squeeze.
"Don't worry about her." Tommy takes a seat in the unoccupied armchair and stretches his legs out infront of him. "She'll come 'round soon enough. The way things were left with Joel...well, it's still raw. Don't take it personally."
"Maybe she needs to have a talk with him sometime," you murmer, staring at your hand still clasped with Maria's. "For some kind of closure."
Tommy hums contemplatively. "Yeah, well, maybe that ain't such a bad idea. Once she's ready, ofcourse."
"Ofcourse," you say in agreement.
A silence falls over the room, but it isn't an unpleasant one. Infact, you feel quite comfortable on the couch, Maria's presence beside you acting like a calming anchor, Tommy's laid back nature making you feel at ease. You look up at him and he flashes you a polite smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
It is never wise to make such comparisons, but you cannot stop yourself from contemplating the contrast between the Miller brothers. The men have such opposing personalities that you occasionally wonder how they are siblings. How does one possess such a benevolent and altruistic persona while the other is paranoid, brutish and ill-tempered?
You had sometimes wondered what Joel had been like prior to the outbreak. Maybe he had been an entirely different man, with a sense of humour and an easygoing nature. You know he had a daughter who was lost in the outbreak but you know no other details; it was Ellie who told you in confidence one day, but Joel had never talked of her, so you chose not to ask about her, despite wanting to know more.
You look at Tommy now as he speaks with his wife, and you silently analyse the features of his handsome face. There are clear similarities to he and Joel, such as the patchiness of their facial hair and the shape of their mouth, bottom lip full and sensual. But while the younger brother's mouth is more often than not pulled into a jovial smile, the older rarely smiles at anyone except Ellie.
It is their striking dark eyes, arguably the most attractive feature of both the brothers, that are strangely contrasted. Tommy's brown eyes always seem to emanate a sense of warmth and humility. Whether he is talking with a close friend or greeting an acquaintance, his eyes shine with a geniality that puts people at ease. You watch him now and notice how they soften even more when he looks at Maria, with nothing but pure adoration in his orbs.
You aren't sure if you've ever witnessed Joel look at you in such a way, though it wouldn't have been more than a couple of times if so. Had he always been so stern and serious? If not, what had made Joel into the hardened man he is today?
"Tommy," you speak up, catching his attention. "Ellie told me Joel had a child before the outbreak. A daughter."
Tommy nods once, his eyes flickering back to Maria for a brief moment before he answers. "Yeah, he did. Her name was Sarah. She passed on outbreak day."
Sarah.
You have no clue what she may have looked like, but you can't stop your imagination from conjuring up an image of a young girl with round cheeks and sparkling brown eyes. Knowing how much Joel loves Ellie, you bet Sarah was the apple of his eye.
You hesitate for a few beats before you ask the question that you have wanted to ask Tommy since the moment you accepted the reality of your circumstances.
"Was....was he a good father?" You ask, the unexpected tremble of your voice taking you by surprise. You notice Maria's back straighten just the slightest and the way her gaze narrows at her husband, indications that she could also be intrigued to hear his answer.
Tommy exhales a soft sigh, a sad little noise, then gives a solemn nod of his head. "He was. She was his everythin'. He would've done anythin' for her." He keeps his eyes fixed on you, genuine candor written in the somber knit of his brows and his downturned mouth. "He worked his ass off to give her the best life he could. He loved her more than anythin' in this world."
Tommy inhales an audible breath and pauses, seeming to hesitate before his next words. "I know my brother has his faults." His eyes drop down to the floor, a wave of shame and sadness visibly crashing over him. Maria doesn't outwardly react to his words and you momentarily wonder if she has any idea just what Tommy is alluding to. "I know he hasn't been a good man to you. But Joel was always a good father, there's no doubt about that. He was the best father to Sarah."
As you listen intently to Tommy's words you come to realise that there is no doubt in your mind that Joel was a good father to his daughter; you know just how deeply he loves Ellie, that he would be willing to do whatever he had to in order to keep her safe and happy. You knew, deep in your heart of hearts, that although Joel has many flaws, he is nothing short of a dedicated and loving father.
"When Sarah died...he just couldn't handle losin' her. He..." Tommy's voice becomes thicker now, and you can see how he is trying to choke out the words through the lump of emotion sitting in his throat. "He tried to end it all...to kill himself. He was so broken."
Tommy bows his head. Your heart skips a beat and your stomach suddenly drops. You feel a pang of something - a mix of sympathy and shock, perhaps - strike behind your ribcage.
Joel tried to kill himself?
You think of how Joel looked that day you left him kneeling in the snow, when you had walked away from him after Tommy had come to your aid. You remember the devastation within his eyes, the hoarse desperation in his voice as he begged you to stay, the strangled sobs of defeat that followed. Joel must have looked similarly when he was preparing to end his life.
Witnessing him so distraught had not affected you at the time - you had been too traumatised by the events of your abduction to feel anything more than relief for the end of your nightmarish ordeal. You had found it easy to turn your back and leave it all behind, to leave Joel behind.
But now, imagining him in such a profound state of grief that he willing to kill himself, causes your heart to sieze within the confines of your chest.
"When it didn't happen he just kept goin' on, not carin' about anythin' but survivin'. He turned hard and cruel. He wasn't the same man anymore." Tommy continues softly. "I thought I'd never see him smile ever again. But then Ellie came along..."
He lifts his head and gazes at you, tears filming over his puppy dog eyes. "And she gave him a reason to be happy again, I think because he got to be a father again. And I think bein' a father is the biggest reason for him wantin' to stay alive."
You feel your own eyes fill with warm tears and your nose begins to drip. You sniff and tip your head back to stop from crying. Maria passes you a handkerchief from her pocket and rubs your back in soothing circles. Tommy wipes his nose with the back of his hand and sits up straight, his barrel chest puffing out.
"I don't want to influence any decision you make in any way, just answerin' your question, sweetheart." He clarifies earnestly. "And like Maria said, we'll support you however you need."
"Looks like you could eat something," Maria offers gently. "I got some leftover soup, you want a bowl?"
"Sure. I'd love that."
Tommy quickly stands up from the armchair and adjusts his belt buckle. "Stay there, ladies, I'll get it." He darts out of the living room and to the kitchen before you can even thank him. You and Maria exchange glances and she chuckles.
"Getting a bit too heavy in here for him, I guess," she grins. "Once the dam breaks it's hard for Tommy to hold back the waterworks."
"Really?" You wipe your nose with the lacy white handkerchief. "Has he always been so...open with his feelings?"
"Nah. I mean, he is a man, after all." Maria gives you a smirk and settles back into the cushion. "When I first met Tommy he was alot more restrained. Except when it came to his anger." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head ruefully. "He bottled up so much for so long that he didn't know how to deal with it, aside from starting fights at the Bison."
You gawp at Maria, shocked that a man as soft spoken as Tommy could have been so combative. Maria clocks your disbelief and snorts. "Oh yeah, you got no idea."
"What changed?" You ask timidly. "He's so... different now."
"As I'm sure you've guessed by now I don't tolerate that kind of macho bullshit," Maria says with wry humour. "So I told him if he wanted anything to do with me then he better work on his repressed shit, or else he could get lost."
Your eyes widen and a small, startled gasp slips from your mouth. "Really? You said that?"
"Ofcourse. I liked him, but I haven't got the time to deal with that nonsense. I wasn't going to be the one to clean up his blood everytime he mouthed off at the wrong person."
You twist the handkerchief in your lap and clear your throat. "So, what happened then?"
"He agreed to work on himself. Stopped drinking so much and started talking about why he was feeling so much anger and sadness."
"Wow," you whisper in awe.
"Don't get me wrong," Maria adds quickly. "It didn't happen overnight - it was a long road, and we fought alot. But Tommy wanted to change and he made the effort to."
You swallow the lump that suddenly forms in your throat. So Tommy's nature hadn't always been so opposite to his older brother's temperament; he had just chosen to improve himself, to actually deconstruct his emotions, and that is why he is the warm hearted individual he is today. Although you feel awestruck, you cannot help the niggling disappointment that Joel had not followed Tommy's lead. Would he be like Tommy if he had?
Then Joel's voice suddenly echoes in your mind; it hits you like a bomb and your whole body stiffens on the couch.
"I been tryin', you know that, don't you? Been tryin' to show you how I feel and make it up to you."
Had he tried? Yes, you supposed so, at one time. He had tried to more patient, more affectionate, more loving, but it had been too late. You remember when you hadn't returned the same level of effort that Joel had felt spurned and ended up treating you even worse than before.
Maybe Joel just wasn't capable of properly loving you in a healthy way, without the jealousy and hate that plagued him so much. Maybe he just didn't love you enough to keep trying to change, like Tommy had for Maria.
"Soup's heated up, ladies," Tommy's honeyed voice chimes from the kitchen, breaking through your thoughts. "Bring yourselves to the table."
Maria shoots you a smile and stands up, taking your hand and pulling you carefully up with her. "Let's get you and baby fed."
••••••
You revealed your secret to your friends a few weeks after the wedding. You anticipated their surprise and concern, and although you dreaded it, you dealt with their bombardment of questions with as much patience as you could muster.
Yes, you were okay.
Yes, the baby is Joel's.
No, he doesn't know.
They all gathered you in their arms and embraced you in a group hug, promising to support you and be the best aunties that your baby could ever dream of. You cried, your heart heavy with the magnitude of your circumstance, but there was also a sense of relief that coursed through you to know you wouldn't be alone in this journey.
You weren't able to hide the bump of your belly for much longer, especially in the warmer weather. Sweat made the material of your clothes cling to your skin, outlining the curves of your body, and it had become obvious to anyone who looked at you that you were pregnant.
The majority of the Jackson community are conservative folk and the news that someone is pregnant out of wedlock is a subject of scandal. Although people talk and gossip, as they tend to do in all towns, no one ever directly approaches you to ask questions or dig for information. Some people throw you occasional looks of curiosity (or what you thought was scrutiny) and whisper to each other behind their hands, but your friends are quick to defend you from the unwanted attention. More than once Rhi confronts someone about their staring, raising her voice at them to mind their own business and fuck off.
You don't really care about other people's opinions, anyway. You are beginning to feel more excited as the days pass, more in wonderment of your body and the slowly developing physical changes that you can see in the mirror. You still couldn't truly grasp the concept that your own body was growing something so precious within it.
Life continues.
You see your friends most days and Maria invites you over for dinner once a week. You don't see much of Ellie, only when you bump into one another in the street or the mess hall. Tommy and Maria tell you she's busy with her duties and spending time with friends, but you wonder if she's purposely keeping her distance from you. It secretly pains you, but you remind yourself that Ellie needs time to process everything that has happened recently. You wonder if she has spoken to Joel yet.
You don't talk about Joel to Maria or Tommy or anyone else, but lately you have found yourself thinking of him at random times of the day. You wonder if he is safe, if he is managing life okay without Ellie with him. You wonder what he would think of your belly. When he finds out the news will he be angry? Will he be happy? Will he be full of regret?
You hadn't been able to really analyse your emotions or even think about Joel until now. You're aware that there has been some kind of shift in your brain recently - there is a clarity, a sort of empowering positivity that surges through you. Perhaps you feel so supported and safe now that you no longer need to avoid triggering thoughts or memories.
The times of introspect sometimes come in unsuspecting little pockets when you least expect. They present themselves in flashes of memories throughout the day, sparked by a phrase someone says, something you spy, or a certain scent that catches your nose. His existence once again manages to pervade your life even when he's not around, like the throbbing scar of a freshly healed wound.
One morning on the walk to the school you spot a speck of vibrant blue flash within your peripheral vision. You stop and redirect your steps toward where the twinkle of colour has materialised from - in a shaded spot on the ground, at the edge of an unused store building, partly obscured by a tangle of weeds. You can guess what it is almost instantly and a stuttered gasp of surprised joy hitches in your throat when your eyes confirm it.
It's your favourite flower. Forget Me Not.
You tread over to the store, with its window fronts shuttered and the wooden front door cracked and dusty looking, and bend down to inspect the cluster of flora. Amongst the weeds are three thin green stems that each carry a bunch of small star shaped blue flowers. Despite how sparse the collection of flora is, it adds a much needed pop of colour within the muted backdrop of the dusty street. It's simply beautiful, you think.
You kneel down slowly, a hand under the shelf of your belly, and begin working to extract the fragile plant with your hands. You are careful not to crush any of the petals as you unwind the dry weeds that have twisted around the stalks. You break off the more tougher weed tendrils and then yank the weeds with a tigh pull so the roots give way, freeing the fragile flowers from its grasp. You chuck the tangle to the side and dust your hands together to rid them of the dirt.
All that is left now is the delicate pedicel. You sit back on your heels and admire it, a hint of a smile on your face. Maybe you could dig it up and take it home with you and plant it in your own garden; you haven't seen this particular flower in such a long time, and here it is, growing in a neglected spot where it will surely be drowned in a dirty clump of weeds, no one to tend to it and nurture its beauty.
Then, without warning, the quiet baritone rumble of Joel's voice drips between your ears.
"Forget Me Not. The flower. It's your favourite."
The smile instantly drops from your face and you screw your eyes shut. You remember when he had said it, the night he had confessed to know you better than you thought. You remember the shock of his words, how bemused you felt that he had somehow learned and retained such a random fact about you.
The residual hurt and resentment from that time returns once again, like a sharp stab to your heart. Had he been more observant than you thought? Had he actually cared about who you are as a person, just choosing never express it, atleast not until after wreaking so much damage?
You open your eyes again to gaze down at the blue flowers. Your fingertip gently strokes over one of the soft petals. *No,* you think bitterly. He had never cared about you, not really, not as a woman with your own autonomous dreams and needs. All he wanted was to own you.
You decide to leave the plant. It could end up thriving right where it is, happy with the shaded dirt and neighbouring weeds and shrubs. There was no reason to uproot it and disturb it. Maybe it even *liked* being there, despite the unispring setting and no one to really admire it. After all, you knew all too well what it was like to be plucked from the comfort of your familiar surroundings and taken somewhere entirely foreign.
You push yourself to stand back up, letting out a small grunt as you wobble slightly once back on your feet. A rush of dizziness momentarily clouds your head but it disappears quickly. You should have eaten a bit more for breakfast, perhaps. You were feeling more sluggish lately, more inclined to laze in bed for longer in the mornings. You wish you could forfeit your duties and go back there right now, but you soldier on. You sigh softly and steel yourself for the day ahead hand gently rubs over the bump of your belly as you walk the rest of the way to school.
••••••