Page 92 of Truly, Darkly, Deeply

‘I don’t want to go,’ I tell my mother.

My throat is tight. My hands shake.

‘What you want isn’t always the same as what you need.’

It could be Nanna G talking. Or Janice. In my head, their voices become one.

I sit by Buster’s bed a moment, stroking his big head. His eyelids raise, then droop.

God, to be him for a day. To not have to leave my bed.

‘The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’re back,’ my mother says. ‘It’s time.’

I inhale deeply, in through my nose, out through my mouth. The way I’ve been taught.

‘Okay.’

I put on my shoes, check Buster has clean water, enter ‘Battlemouth Prison’ into Google Maps.

My fingers are trembling, I have to type the words twice before I hit the right keys. When I swallow nothing passes the obstruction in my throat.

As I start the engine, I can’t help wondering if he’ll look the same. Those laughing green eyes, that wavy blonde hair.

Stupid, I know.

Just like going to see him.

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