Page 46 of Forever Not Yours

“You don’t want to be here either, Bash.”

It had been just over three weeks, and if I thought I’d ruined everything that awful weekend in Edinburgh? Bah. I was apparently just getting started.

Faye? Nowhere to be found, but I needed to ask her to get my lunch so I could get started on Kieron’s analytics. I needed to speak to someone over at the Manchester branch, someone told me in passing as I raced down towards my office. There were messages on my screen that all screamed urgent in bright red, but I didn’t care, frantically rummaging in my desk drawers for my testing kit, which was not there. Could I get my brain to function enough to find it? Nah. Brain? Gone on holiday apparently, somewhere niceand warm, sunning itself in the south of France or some shit.

Fucking Juliet. I didn’t want a new job. I wanted to stay here. I worked here; I was goddamn good at my job. And most of all, I wanted to work here because Juliet was here, and she knew me and how I functioned and had my back.

Test strips, good. Where the hell were the pricking thingy-ma-bob-sticks? I laughed out loud at my thoughts.

Not good. I was not well, and now the sensor was showing high, and the pump had shown numbers that I truly didn’t like.

My head was pounding, and I was also shaking. I was hyper, despite my pump being in and refilled. What the hell? Shit. Damn. Low? Now I felt like I was low. I was a fucking diabetic and knew these things, but it unnerved me when I had to rely on tech, and now I couldn’t even find something sharp to prick my bloody finger.

And here was Faye, not even bothering to knock.

“Bash, someone called Jake is trying to get hold of you.” She looked flustered. “He’s rung about ten times and says your phone is off.”

“It’s fine. I’ll ring him later.” After I got some prick-sticks from the pharmacy down the road. I pushed past her in a huff, grabbing my suit jacket as I left. Just a quick walk, clear my head. The walk would clear all those biscuits I’d shoved down my neck, and then I would…get…stuff, order a new bloody pump. I wasn’t having any of this shit.

Well, I walked. My head was a mess with too many thoughts. Work. Juliet. I didn’t want another job. How the hell would I manage a different job? I was good at this one. I was good because my team made me look good. Because Juliet had taught me well and still did. I was only who I was because of the people around me.

It was a warm day, but I was cold as anything, trying to pull my jacket around my chest, shivering when I should be sweating. Hot or cold? Seemed my body just couldn’t decide today. Crashing? She could fuck right off.

I walked. Down to the river and along the footpath, up a side street and round the block, back down, up over the overpass and past Big Ben, fighting the crowds of tourists with their cameras. People. People everywhere.

Walking was good; it brought those pesky sugars right back down. Good stuff. Also, I could think out here, clear my head.

I suddenly found myself standing in the street, staring aimlessly at the road in front of me. I had no idea where I was. Pharmacy? I’d walked straight past it, several blocks too far past it, and now I was standing by the main crossing heading back up towards the office, but instead of getting back to work, I was staring into space. My hands shaking and my head cloudy, I was an absolute idiot because I’d known it. I needed to eat, right now, and get my sugars back up, whatever the idiot-sensor said. I knew my body, and I’d gone way off track in my head and now…

Ha! Pub on the corner. I knew this pub. It was dark and dingy for a reason, the multiple rainbow flags outside clearly announcing that this was the place for…people who needed a certain thing. This wasn’t ahappy, jolly queer pub for pints and laughter; definitely not the place to get a quick and tasty bite to eat. There was a reason the windows were blacked out and why the double doors with the blackout curtains felt too heavy for my worn-out arms.

I’d been here before. I knew the drill.

I had no sense. Zero. What the hell was I doing? I was better than this. Stronger than this. I’d once had so much; now I had so little left.

The sting on my backside as I sat on a bar stool wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the haze in my head, the fog that seemed to muffle everything. The bartender in front of me was speaking words I couldn’t hear.

My phone in my hand. Black screen. I tapped it. And again. Dead. I was sure it had been on earlier. Had I switched it off?

Someone sitting down next to me. Big arms. Shuffling the bar stool closer.

My breaths—too loud. Everything too much.

“Water,” I said weakly. I wasn’t sure anyone was listening.

“You okay, mate?” I didn’t recognise the voice. Wasn’t sure where I was.

“Water,” I slurred. Then changed my tune. “Juice.” I tried to swallow the spit in my mouth and tried again. “Orange.”

Perhaps I should have saidRed. Stopped everything. He’d said that, Jake. Red stopped everything. Green for go. Orange?

Someone’s grip on my arm. Fingers feeling up my wrists, finding my bracelet and fiddling with it.

“Diabetic?” the voice asked. “Mate, can we have an OJ here, please, and two sachets of sugar?”

Then hands, patting me down, gently, but I didn’t care.

“You have a sensor, mate? Phone dead?”

---