Forever ago, p.1
Forever Ago, page 1
Contents
Foreword
Foreword
Trigger Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by J Rose
Copyright © J Rose 2021
Written and Published by J Rose
Cover Design and Formatting by Books and Moods
Proofreading by Emma Luna at Moonlight Author Services
First Paperback Edition May 2021
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters and events are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, establishments or events is coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used without the express permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in the context of a book review or article.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798741041147
This book is for everyone battling an addiction and fighting every damn day to stay above water.
You are doing great. Don’t give up.
Find your North Star and never let go.
’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all
-ALFRED LORD TENNYSON
One day, you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die.
However, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find is that they are not always with whom we spend our lives
-UNKNOWN
Trigger Warning
This book tackles mature themes that some readers may find triggering. This includes scenes of drug addiction, grief, bereavement, suicide, and mental health issues. Additionally, there will be multiple scenes of a sexual nature and explicit language used throughout.
Please do not read this book if you find any of these elements triggering or offensive.
This book isn’t a fairy tale. In the real world, not all endings are happy. But it isn’t the destination that matters – it’s the journey.
Chapter One
Hallie
Everyone has an opinion on grief. There’s a lot of us that have lost someone along the way. Parents, siblings, lovers… ourselves. It’s a funny, intangible thing; this feeling of being alone in the world.
It washes over me like a tidal wave as I watch my Dad’s coffin being lowered into the dirt hole in the ground.
“Marcus was a loving husband, father, and co-worker…” Father Ashby begins.
The words don’t resonate. I’m watching the raindrops. Not the kind of rain that batters your windows and writes off an entire day. Soft droplets that drench everything, leaving no surface untouched. It patters against my umbrella, sliding off the black material to hit my coat. I brush my cheeks absently, finding them wet also. Everything is damp and laden with sorrow.
“Come here, love.” The neighbour, Fiona, slips an arm around me and squeezes tight. I don’t even know her - is she the one with the dog that drove Dad crazy? He hated this woman.
“Your Papa is at peace now. Damned cancer, I hate it.”
Swallowing the need to shove her away and scream at the top of my lungs, I attempt a level voice. “He was suffering. Mum wouldn’t have wanted that, I suppose.” If she was alive either.
“No, she wouldn’t. They are together again now, Hallie. That’s all that matters.”
“I guess so,” I manage.
They are together, but I’m alone. How is that fair? I nod and tune her incessant chatter out, nothing else to add. When it’s my turn to walk up to the grave, I throw a handful of soil onto the coffin. Cheap, the best I could afford. He didn’t leave much in the way of money behind to cover the cost of these things. Most of it was spent on his end of life care. Just the two of us until the very end; I had to do things that no child should ever have to do for a parent.
“We therefore commit this body to the ground,” Father Ashby chants, sliding his bible shut. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Everyone stands for the final lines, some holding hands, others softly gossiping. It’s a tiny group, none of them family, mostly neighbours or distant work colleagues looking for an excuse to feel sad. I barely recognise anyone.
“In the sure and eternal hope of the resurrection to eternal life.”
The sermon finishes and I walk away, eyes on the heavy grey clouds. Swollen with anger and suppressed tears, much like my aching chest. Some people try to stop me, wanting to offer condolences or praise my bravery for caring for my Dad while the terminal cancer slowly ate away at his entire being. I brush past them all.
“She left school just to care for him you know.”
“I heard she helped him end it. Before the cancer could, I suppose. She probably wanted to cash in on his life insurance.”
“Don’t be silly, Mildred. He died in his sleep, she couldn’t get to him in time. And the man was shit poor, there’s nothing left for her.”
Running faster, I flee from the speculations and hurtful opinions. None of them understand. It was just me and Dad, cancer or no fucking cancer. The two musketeers against the world. I didn’t care that he became the child and I the parent, looking after him wasn’t a chore. It was an easy sacrifice because I loved him. I loved my Dad so much.
“Hallie, do you want someone to come and stay?” Fiona asks.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You know where I am if you need me.”
I dial a cab, ready to return to my empty, cold home, devoid of any parents. I’m the only one left now, there’s no one else to care for. Dad was my last relative and this cruel world insisted on taking him from me too.
Without him, I’m a ship adrift at sea. Rudderless and with zero direction. Except, I feel like the water will drown me at any moment, it’s flooding all around me and I can’t swim. I can’t paddle. I can’t fucking breathe in this goddamn tight dress, surrounded by strangers that pretend to know how I’m feeling.
“Hackney please,” I tell the taxi driver, fleeing the funeral. There’s no wake to attend after, nothing more to do. I won’t watch as they cover my last remaining family member with fresh dirt, in the plot right next to Mum’s grave that has long since grown over with weeds.
The cab pulls away, leaving my broken heart behind in that wooden box. In the privacy of the vehicle, I break down fully.
“Bye, Daddy,” I whisper. “Say hi to Mum for me.”
There’s no reply of course.
Chapter Two
Hallie
Ten months later…
“You’ve got to come. We break up for summer in a few weeks. It’s time to start celebrating, we made it! Come on Hallie, live a little!” Robin goads, ruffling my dark brown hair.
“You know I’m not much of a partier,” I grumble. The paintbrush is clenched tight in my white-knuckled grip as I tilt my head, considering the canvas from a different angle.
“You skipped freshers in September and refreshers in January. Puh-lease… I’ll love you forever. I need a wing woman, I haven’t pulled in like… four days.”
She splatters some watercolours about, frowning at the piece of art while chewing her lip.
“Four days? Poor you, sounds terrible,” I snort sarcastically.
“Zip it. Not all of us have the introverted nun thing going on.”
Ouch. I guess I can’t argue against that.
“I have to work tomorrow. I can’t come.” I concede with a sigh. “Not all of us have a free ride to university, you know.” I start capping my oil paints and collecting the dirty brushes to wash, taking care with the supplies.
After selling my parents’ home last year, I could barely afford to attend university. I’ve worked my ass off for everything, from rent to equipment, just to pursue my dreams of doing an art degree.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Robin runs a hand over her short, glossy black hair, painted red lips pierced by brilliant white teeth. She’s classically beautiful, comfortable in her own skin, and could easily have her choice of friends. Yet she decides to hang out with me, the weirdo that refuses to socialise.
“What about tonight? Pub? It’s Friday after all.”
“I have group therapy,” I mutter.
“Oh shit. Call me if you want company after.”
Nodding, I shove everything in my backpack and collect the canvas to take over to the drying station. It still needs a bit more work, but my end of semester piece is coming along nicely. I’m not going to enter it into the competition run by the faculty though, I’m
“You can talk to me, you know. About… him,” Robin offers.
Dad chuckles in my head. You gave up your youth to look after me. Be a normal twenty-three-year-old, Hallie Bear. Quit mourning me and move on with your life already. I died, you don’t have to as well.
Hands tightened into fists, I stick his loud, torturous memory in a little box at the back of my head and tape it tight, just to keep him quiet inside. “Fine, I’ll come to the party.”
“You will?” She gasps, beaming wide.
Before I can change my mind, I pull Robin into a brisk hug. “Even if it’s only for an hour. I’ll clock off early or something, they owe me some time off anyway.”
“You’re the best, Hal. I can’t wait. See you at home?”
“Yeah, will do.”
Fleeing the art building, I stick headphones in and try not to think about what I’ve just agreed to. I don’t party. Normally, Robin will be off romancing the ladies and figuring out which one she wants to fuck that night, and I just sit in the corner awkwardly. But she’s put up with my unsociable ass for nearly a year now since we started renting our cheap London flat together, the least I can do is make an effort.
I have one friend.
One is all I need.
Hopping on the gleaming red bus that picks up from the edge of campus, I scan my Oyster card and find an empty seat. It’s thirty minutes to the Rosebush Clinic where the bereavement group meets every week. I’ve been going and sitting in silence for nearly four months now, ever since that night, when I could no longer cope with the losses that taint my life. I’ve been skating by each day ever since, one moment to the next.
That’s all my life is now.
Breathing. Blinking. Painting.
Pretending to be alive, when really I was buried last summer too.
Passing the hospital and A&E department, the bus pulls up outside the visitor car park. I jump off and walk over to the grey building in the distance that houses the mental health services. All the wards and clinics are housed together, so there’s always a few oddballs hanging outside the front.
“Afternoon, Hallie.” David waves at me, blowing rings of smoke outwards. His nurse glares at him, eyeing her watch as he happily smokes his cigarette.
“Those things will kill you,” I tell him.
“Ain’t no problem for me, girl. You here for the head shrinker?”
I hoist my backpack higher and nod. “As usual.”
“If you want my advice, get back on that bus and run your little ass home. You don’t want to end up like me, pissin’ and shittin’ with an audience.” David glares at the nurse who is now shooing him inside. “I haven’t finished my fucking smoke yet, damn woman. Hold your horses already.”
“Take it easy.” I laugh, giving him a wave. Are his feet bare?
Figures that my only human interaction outside of Robin is a mental patient with no one else to talk to. I am the definition of loneliness, an empty shell wrapped in my grief. Nothing’s meant anything since I lost the only person that understood me.
The two musketeers.
You and me against the world, Hallie Bear.
Brushing his persistent memory aside again, I check in at the welcome desk and walk to the group therapy room. Grabbing a herbal tea from the refreshment stand, I’m early like normal, only the two inpatient members are here already. Sandy gives me a chin jerk, continuing to fiddle with the chairs until she’s satisfied they are all straight and safe to sit in.
“Here.” She directs me into a seat.
“Thanks. Good week?”
Rolling her eyes, she takes a chair opposite in the circle. “Peachy. How’s the real world?”
“Overrated.”
I sip my tea and wait for the others to join us, including Luke, the therapist with his grey hair and thick beard. Sandy sniggers, looking over his bright sweater and clashing trousers, another classic lurid combination. We share a giggle at the painfully unfashionable sight and avert our eyes when he frowns.
There’s ten of us in the group, some worse than others. Everyone’s lost someone, touched by death and unable to move on. Sandy lost her husband and attempted suicide, landing herself on the adult ward. Peter’s the other inpatient, although he doesn’t talk much.
The rest of us are in the community and have been labelled as ‘struggling’ to move on, I suppose. I’m the youngest here by several years. It’s intimidating at times, but I don’t do well with people my own age anyway.
“Homework out, people,” Luke directs. “We’ll be doing feedback first.”
Rooting around in my backpack, I grab the thought diary out and fold the pages so nobody can sneak a peek. Just as Luke goes to shut the door it slams open, a young guy stomps in.
“Can I help you?”
“Here for the grief shit or whatever,” he mutters.
Luke folds his arms, heaving a sigh. “Ezekiel, right? Ezekiel Rhodes? I heard you were starting today. Take a seat and we’ll do introductions.”
“Just Zeke,” he snaps.
Battered Chucks thumping on linoleum, the tall, built guy makes his way to the only empty seat - next to me. The plastic creaks as he collapses into it, grumbling under his breath.
“Right, great to see you all again.” Luke beams. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Taking us through the grounding exercises that start each session, everyone shuts their eyes and follows Luke’s direction. I’m sitting ramrod straight in my seat, acutely aware of the new guy watching us all with disgust. The scent of cigarettes and booze hits my nose, making me wince.
“The fuck is this?” Zeke whispers.
“You’re supposed to be quiet,” I reply, sneaking a glance at him.
Palms slick with anxious sweat, I take in his high cheekbones, firm jaw layered with stubble, and messy black hair. He’s got a shiny nose ring above his plump lips, which are twisted in a sarcastic smile. There’s another in his eyebrow, with flawless green eyes below. They flick over me, cold and angry.
“Seriously? Like meditation crap?”
“Something like that.” I look at his ripped skinny jeans, black band tee and flannel shirt, all looking rumpled and dirty. “You never been to group therapy before?”
“Nope.” He pops the ‘P’ and swings on his seat like a disobedient child. “I’m not fucking whacked.”
“Sure,” I snap, rolling my eyes. “Whatever you say.”
Asshole. Ignoring him, I refocus on Luke and listen to the others sharing their homework feedback. He works around the circle, inviting each patient to share. I clutch the paper in my hands even tighter, panic crawling up my throat. When my turn arrives, I mumble some shit that I know he wants to hear, earning me a pleased smile.
“What about you?”
All attention turns to Zeke beside me, arms crossed and legs spread wide. “Yeah? What about me, what?”
Luke forces a caring smile, despite this idiot’s abrasive attitude. “Would you like to introduce yourself to the group as you are new? Tell us a bit about why you’re here.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Rude boy,” Sandy snorts from across the room.
Zeke sits up in his seat, face full of raw aggression. “You got a problem, cunt?”
Luke calmly raises his hands. “Woah! Zeke, please. Watch your language.”
“Fuck off, man. I’ll say what I damn please.”
