Page 19 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
I had to leave her.
I know everyone thinks I’m a dick for doing it but there was no other way. If I had chosen to go that morning and was faced with her brown eyes, begging me to stay so she can continue sticking my ever falling pieces together, I would’ve let her. I would’ve stayed and I would have allowed myself to get mercilessly worse just so she could sew me back together.
I think I did sort of want her to, as well which is fucked up and selfish because we were kids and she was going through her own shit but there was this part inside of me, deep down, that wanted her to put me together like a shredded photo. I think she tried really hard to but it was no use, everytime she built me up again, I crumbled right back down. There was something about Phoebe that nagged in my mind back then—still does now—I wanted her delicate thin fingers to build me back up everytime I fell apart. Sometimes I think I did just throw myself down and purposely break just so I could feel her holding me.
Even now, I think I still want her to carefully weave the broken parts of me together into whatever shape she sees fit. It’s never really mattered what I wanted because it’s always been about her, always will be. Digby or not.
“So…?” George turns his phone off. “What do you think?”
I blink a couple times, turn away from him.
“She looks good, don’t she?”
“She always looked good,” I tell him.
“True,” he sighs. “She always was an absolute ride.”
“Oi,” I turn around, shake my head.
“What?” He laughs. “Every boy in our year who had common sense thought the same thing.”
I get it, I do—he probably is bang on the money—but still, not that great to hear but also, it is, ain’t it? Yeah, they all thought that but who had her? Bit of a slap in the face to how much she loved me, though. I’m only hearing this now because she was never interested enough in anyone else to even tell me or bring it up.
“Still, though,” I tilt my head. “I wouldn’t say that about Athena.”
“No, you wouldn’t because if you did, I’d fucking have your brains for dinner.”
He smiles, slaps my back and we go back downstairs to Connie and Albie.
“We should throw a party.” Connie announces.
“No, we shouldn’t.” I give him a look.
“Why not?” He whines. “A coming home party.”
Albie grins. “Yeah, a party for an ex-addict, that’s well smart.”
Connie rolls his eyes. “We’re not gonna be giving out grams as party favors, are we? We can even have alcohol-free drink.”
I wobble my head, not sure how I’d feel about that. Parties were my biggest triggers. That environment mixed with the inevitably of seeing Phoebe? Sounds like a relapse begging to happen.
“It could be fun,” George raises his eyebrows. “We could do it at House, just a small thing.”
“Fuck it,” I clap. “Why not?”
“We’ll search everyone at the door,” George points over to me. “If you relapse it won’t be on my fucking watch.”
Connie ruffles my hair. “That’s the spirit, ain’t it?”
I frown. “Is it?”
“Course it is!” Connie jumps up. “Going out hasn't been the same without you.”
A smile pulls on my lips. “Missed me, did you?”
“You know we fucking did,” Albie tries to hide his smile as he hangs his head and shakes a cigarette out of its packet.
It didn’t even clock that I’d miss them more than my own family.
