Page 21 of Falling for Grace

I feel sick. I can’t say the words as I know it’s a lie. I already have a plan formulating in my head, and it will be by far the most cowardly thing I have ever done.

I nod.

The relief on his face is like a punch to the gut.

“You’ll call him?” he asks again, and I keep nodding my head, because that’s what he wants. He wants to know that I will tell his brother. Even though I won’t, I won’t call Brandon and tell him; I won’t give him a chance to make the decision.

Because I’ve already made it.

PART 2

Grief is an ocean, all we can do is learn to swim.

Chapter 7

Iwake up with a gasp. My pulse calms as I flop back to the pillow. I touch my forehead, the skin is hot and sweaty, tendrils of my caramel hair cling to my clammy face. Memories flood through my thoughts, wave after wave, as the remnants of the dream disappear. The flashbacks are gone, but every so often I have a dream that brings things back to the surface.

But things are better now. I am better.

Whereas before a dream like this would knock me down for days, now I acknowledge how it makes me feel.

Like shit.

I sit and reflect…reflecting that it made me feel like shit, and then I move on.

I can’t change the past.

Even if I wanted to.

Which I do.

Every.

Single.

Day.

I lie there a few moments longer and watch as the red digits on my bedside clock move from 6.59 to 7.00 a.m., followed by the radio coming on automatically. My wake-up call.

No angry buzz here, thank you. Wake me up slowly through lullabies and rambling voices. But not today. Dreams of Danny woke me up this morning, not a breakfast radio show.

I moved to Houston a little over two years ago. I needed a fresh start, away from people and reminders. I have family here in Clear Lake City, and Mum. For me it was the perfect place to start again, my second home away from home… I wasn’t running.

I look at the fan on the ceiling slowly rotating round and round, and my mind wanders to Danny.

What is he doing?

Is he ok?

Is he happy?

It’s around one in the afternoon in London, which means that he may be on his lunch. I haven’t spoken to him for almost three years. In one of my last sessions, my therapist suggested that I call him. I always told Danny I would reach out to him when I was ready, and I think for the first time I am truly ready.

I am ready to start down that road.

I throw the covers off me like a woman possessed, jump out of bed and grab my phone off the chest of drawers. I navigate to my favourite contacts, because Danny is still on my favourites. It may have been three years, he may not have my number anymore, his number may not even be the same.

My heart rate is already increasing, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, which is ridiculous because it’s a phone call, that’s all.

---