Morning
Getting out of bed this morning was arduous. My right side was normally roasting but now nothing but a void of cold and emptiness. The pillows looked exactly like yesterday morning when He made the bed. The all-too-familiar indent of where His head had laid all night was smooth. The vibration and sound from His bedside table where His phone rested during the night was now silent. Deathly silent. The comforting arms that encased me throughout the night were gone, and I’d never feel them again. The tickle of His warm breath on the side of my face, from where I cuddled as close as humanly possible to Him, that used to make my nose twitch in annoyance was never going to be felt again. As much as I hated it at the time, I’d give anything to feel it again. Feel Him again. Dog’s soft purrs and warm fur from where she nestled in-between us weren’t felt or heard, instead she was curled up on her bed in the far corner looking longingly between the bed and the door, as if waiting for her owner to return with head pats and treats. How could I explain to her that He won’t ever be coming back? That He was gone and He’d never walk back up the stairs, open the door and flop on the bed almost crushing us in the process.
With great effort, I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. The mirror that by the time I usually woke up, got out of bed and walked into the bathroom was all steamed up from His ridiculously hot showers now clear as day. I reached for one of the hand towels neatly folded up on the white cabinet in the corner of the room, draping it over the mirror I obstructed my face from view. I couldn’t bring myself to look in the mirror, the sight that would greet me was not something I was eager to witness. Despite it being only 11 hours since He left, I look like shit. Eyes that were once forest green were now darkened and reddened with 8 and a half hours’ worth of sobbing. Eyes bags that before tonight were a lovely light shade of purple now looked like day-old bruises. Purposeful dishevelled curls now messed up from hours worth of carding my fingers through my hair trying to trick myself into thinking it was Him. I turned the knobs on the shower setting it to His temperature, and just stood there watching as the water heated up, and steam clouded the bathroom. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was standing in the bathroom whilst He was showering, but the facade was quickly destroyed when the homely scent of His honey shower gel and coconut shampoo couldn’t be smelt. With a sob, I opened my eyes and got in.
Once I had showered, I brushed my teeth hand brushing against His toothbrush. It would never be used again. Its handle would never be graced by His delicate touch again. There would never be another competition of who could use the toothpaste the longest before repenting and opening the other one. Soon, this tube will run out and I’ll be forced to open the other one. Forced to start something without Him. The porcelain white sink and now cracked mirror would never be the unwilling audience of our daily fights over them, Him fixing His stupid fluffy brown hair and me putting on my eyeliner. The purple towel He bought, thinking it was navy blue, would never get to embrace his slender and radiator-like frame again. The brush will never be able to carve its bristles through His hair again, feeling the way the knots came undone and how He melted at its loving touches. I splashed my face with cold water and dried it with the grey hand towel on the towel rack. It held His scent, I closed my eyes and could imagine I had pressed my face into His chest like I always did when overwhelmed. I felt my eyes tearing up so quickly finished drying my face so the tears didn’t turn into the monstrous sobs that could be heard all night.
The black oak wardrobes doors opened with a familiar groan, no matter how muchMr. DavidsonWiliam tried to mend them nothing changed. Over the months of living here, I have grown to love that little groan, it has become routine. Normally, at this point in the morning, He’d be standing right by my side also picking out his outfit for the day. He’d be routing through the mountain of clothes He owned before settling on a black hoodie and sweatpants like He always wore. But here I was, looking for clothes today alone. I’d spend the rest of my life looking for clothes alone, and the love of my life would never get to stand by my side and complain about how He has nothing to wear but proceeds to wear a near-exact replica of yesterday’s outfit. No longer would I be able to joke about how He was a cartoon character wearing only the same clothes. Every. Single. Day. Nothing in our looked interesting, but that was probably just my general disinterest in facing the world today. One thing caught my eye. A hoodie to be exact. His hoodie to be precise. His favourite hoodie. The hoodie in question was black and had a little embroidered duck sitting in some waves in the left corner. Carefully, I reached out and grabbed it and with great care brought it to my nose. Oh Gods, it smelt exactly like him. I have never handled something with as much care as I did this hoodie. It was His prized possession, and would now become mine. It was perfect.
I paired the hoodie with my nicest looking black ripped jeans and whilst looking for a pair of shoes that would do Him justice I found a pair I had never seen before. Black high-top Vans with blue and green laces, and 2 embroidered Chrysanthemums on the side. A note neatly placed on top read ‘𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝐻𝑒 𝒾𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝓈𝑜 𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊’. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, the note slipped from my grasp before I could finish reading it but I didn’t need to finish to know it was William’s writing, I brought the shoes close to my chest and cradled them like a mother would her child. I laced them up and picked my bag up from where I had thrown it down last night.
I took a deep breath, psyching myself up for going into a world He would no longer get to experience, and opened the door. Before shutting it, I glanced over to our unmade bed and whispered “Happy 6 months, my love.”
