Page 72 of Forgotten
(Thanny) We are not over, Ashley.
I type a response quickly.
(Me) Yes, we are. Pack your stuff and don’t come back.
When he starts typing again, I block his number and reach for cigarette number four. I wish I had something stronger at home.
Then I wait, until the sky gets dark and the screaming is over. The house is quiet. I wait a little longer before unlocking the kitchen door and looking around. Empty.
I sigh in relief, feeling weightless and lost and incredibly scared for the future. Will Thanny come back? Will he be angry? What will I do then?
When Ford rings the doorbell around thirty minutes later, I jump out of my trance and rush to the door. I push a combination of buttons to open the gate and the instant I spot him in the driveway, I run to him.
I barely have time to register his sad expression before he meets me halfway and buries his face into my neck. His beard is longer and it scratches my skin but I don’t care. I rub against him gladly. We stay perfectly still, wrapped in each other in front of my house, until a thunder rumbles in the distance and a fine drizzle begins to wet our clothes. Summer in England. Delightful.
“Come inside,” I say, pulling him through the door by the hem of his jacket.
Ford looks around as if seeing the house for the first time and then, he asks, “Jonathan?”
“Gone.” The words don’t even hurt that much.
With an approving hum, Ford turns and pulls me into his arms again. “Are you okay?” he asks and I shake my head.
“Are you okay?” I ask back, and Ford shakes his head, removing his jacket and letting it fall onto the floor.
He strides into the living-room and sits on the couch, patting on the spot beside him. I should ask if he wants something to drink, something to eat, but I can’t be bothered to be a decent host when Ford is looking at me like this, with sad puppy eyes. I sit next to him and bounce my knee against his knee.
“I missed your birthday,” I tell him.
Ford shrugs. “It was nothing special. I was alone.”
I want to push it, I need to know where he was and why he was alone and I want to kill everyone who has left him to celebrate on his own. But Ford lets out a little puff of air, followed by a small sob and I need to make this better, somehow.
“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
The room is completely silent around us, until suddenly it isn’t. “My therapist keeps asking me who I am,” Ford begins, quivering. “And who the fuck am I, Ash? Tell me, please. You must know. Because I have no clue anymore. I thought I could make a living with music but I’m not good enough, I can’t figure this out. I thought I liked Emily but she dumped me this morning and I don’t think I’m even really sad about it, you know? Why am I not sad? Dr. Bakari asks me who I am but I have no idea, because nothing makes sense, nothing feels right. Nothing is right and you and I are not speaking anymore.”
His speech is rushed and I can barely follow his words. I can see that he’s losing focus, growing restless on the couch. “Ford, stop. For goodness sake, slow down. Breathe with me.” I urge him to follow me, deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale.
“I got fired. Earlier, when I called you. Well, no, they simply didn’t renew my contract but I thought, I hoped… The orchestra… I’ve spent so many years giving them everything I had and now, now…”
“Shh.”
Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale.
When Ford’s cheeks gain back a little colour, I cup his chin and lift it to look into his eyes. Sitting side by side he’s almost as tall as me and I fight the need to sink my fingers in the curve of his dimples.
“That’s better. Keep breathing. We will figure this out, I’m right here.”
Ford tries to move away but I clutch my fingers, holding his face in place. His red hair is sticking to hisforehead, damp with sweat. He opens and closes his mouth and I can see the panic as he struggles to findwords.
“Hey. Why don’t we start small? What makes sense in your life?” Holding him still, I rest a hand on Ford’s knee to stop it from shaking. He unclenches a fist and brings his hand on top of mine, strong fingers curling in a death grip.
“You do.”
A flash of something crosses Ford’s eyes and then, he’s wetting his lips and he is everywhere. His broad shoulders are blocking the only source of light in the room and I don’t mind the darkness, if it means Ford is here with me. The shadows on his face fade as he comes closer and I can’t help but stare at his beautiful face. The full brows, the same shade of chestnut as the rest of his facial hair. The straight nose, the square jawline. I have known Ford since I was six years old and I have never noticed the constellation of freckles on his cheekbone. When he closes the distance between us, Ford is notgentle. His teeth hit mine and our noses bump together and his beard is scratchy against my chin. His lips are wet and his breathing irregular.
It’s wrong.
