Page 108 of The Art of Loving You

The smokeless chimney towered into the pale sky. There had been no making love in front of dancing fire. No toasting of marshmallows. That day my dreams had burned strong and bright and now they were nothing but ash. I lightly touched my temples with my fingertips. It was in there, even then, this mass that had brought me pain and suffering. Confusion and … Jack? Had it brought me Jack?

He was there at the window.

Watching.

Waiting.

I no longer felt the sweat dampening on my skin as I stepped towards him. No longer felt the gravel cut into my soles.

Jack.

My lips formed his name as I touched my head again, no longer trusting what was in front of my eyes.

But my heart. I trusted my heart that was still full of love for the man I could see. My heart that would always be full of love for the man before me. I hurried forward, reaching for the handle, knowing that Mum or Alice had likely locked the door when I was taken to hospital and I’d have to find another way inside but it slipped open. I bolted it behind me.

Jack.

He stood before me, his brown hair curling over his collar, his grey eyes holding mine until I broke away. Slowly I scanned the room. The mustard sofa, the open fireplace. My brain processed every object. I knew that if I wanted to, I could touch them. Feel the smoothness of the polka-dot vase. The chill of the silver picture frame.I could lay my hands on everything in this room and feel the weight of them beneath my skin.

Everything except Jack.

Still I tried, reaching for him as he stepped away. My hand connecting to air that felt thicker somehow.

Somethingwasthere.

Someone.

Jack.

I screwed up my eyes. Opened them again. Saw the concern on his face and I wanted to cry.

‘I’m sick.’

‘I know.’ I didn’t ask him how. It wasn’t important. There was only one thing I needed him to confirm.

‘Are you real?’

‘I’m here.’ Two words that didn’t bring me comfort. I no longer trusted him. I no longer trusted myself.

Hallucination. Auditory and visual.

Lightheaded, I sank onto the sofa, not sure if it was the trek to get here, the tumour or the heavy swell of needing his comforting arms around me so badly that knocked me off my feet.

‘You should be in hospital, Libs,’ Jack said quietly.

‘What, and let them operate? Let them remove possibly the only thing that allows me to see you? Hear you?’ I spoke quickly, knowing that tears were only moments away. ‘I can’t do it, Jack. I won’t.’

I waited for him to tell me that he’d always be with me, whether I had the operation or not.

But he didn’t. A sick feeling sloshed in my stomach.

Hallucinations.

Psychosis.

Had any of this been real?

I raised my face to Jack’s. I had to choose. My life or the one I’d created here with him? Greedily I wanted both.

---