The Academy: chapter 4

Back at his place, a small but comfortable flat just outside Brixton, he flicked the TV on and poured me a shot of vodka.
"What channel is the news on these days?" I asked quietly.
"You don't watch it? Every channel is either the news or porn." He laughed harshly.
I put BBC one on.
"...residents of the area are stricken with grief at the loss of this small yet beautiful and historic village. Everywhere but George the 5th has been affected and most of Hatch End has been hit by the giant airliner, the explosion carried several miles as it hit an electricity pylon. Most of Pinner has been wiped out and a small amount of Stanmore has been affected by the aftershock...."
I didn't really hear the woman on TV. I just saw the long road that lead to my street, where my little house was with my two little siblings and my mum were. The street was barely recognisable. No houses. Just rubble. It was destroyed enough that I could see my street, and there's... nothing there. I dropped the shot glass I was holding and it smashed on the floor, the small amount of vodka spilling out.
"What the fuck?" Aiden said loudly and came into the living room where I was sitting open mouthed. "What the fuck?" He repeated, waiting for me to answer.
Without saying one word I grabbed my still sodden coat and ran out of the flat, leaving the door wide open, the vodka on the floor and Aiden standing there bemused.
He followed me quickly. He was tall and athletically built and caught up easily.
I ran to the train station that was luckily just across the street. Tramps and junkies near the entrance looked up and tried to grapple at my feet, but I ignored them and carried on.
"Hey! Hey, c'mon, what the fuck happened to you?" Aiden called. I kept going. A train to Hatch End Station pulled into the station. I didn't know whether the station was even there anymore, but I had to try it. I leapt onto the train, and to my surprise, Aiden did too.
I stood by the doors, willing the train to go at top speed. He walked up to me and grabbed my shoulders, forcing me around to look at him. I didn't fight against him. I didn't have the energy.
He must have stood there shouting at me to answer him for twenty minutes. I couldn't hear him. Every word that spewed out of his mouth may as well have been in Iranian for all I cared. At last- Hatch End.
I stepped onto the platform. There were the oyster card swipes. There were the benches. There was the big clock on the wall. Where was the roof?
"Shit..." Aiden said hoarsely.
I ran through the high street. Police and firemen tried to stop me, but they couldn't. I barged past them until a big blockade of trucks and fire engines stood in my way.
"You can't come through here miss," One police officer told me.
"Just you fucking try and stop me." I snarled back before pushing him out the way.
"Hey- Hey young lady- what the hell do you think you're doing!" The officer shouted and several others pricked up. "Oi! Somebody stop her!" One by one the officers lunged themselves at me, grabbing my arms and twisting them behind my back so I couldn't move. I cried out in pain.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing to her? Get the fuck off!" Aiden shouted wildly at them. By this time I no longer cared what anyone did. They could shoot me in the head if they so felt inclined. My legs went limp and I fell to the floor in a tangled, sobbing heap.
"Miss... Gwen Hartley. You are not allowed to be here," One officer said, studying my oyster card in my purse.
Suddenly I was outraged. How dare they try to stop me?!
"I LIVE HERE!" I screamed with as much gusto as I could muster.
The officer stood back a bit, alarmed at how much noise I could make.
"What road?"
"That one..." I whispered and pointed.
"I'm sorry. That road is right behind the pilon, there's nothing left." He looked at me sympathetically. My hair was still dripping wet. I smelt of weed and vodka. It was pitch black apart from the flashing lights from the police cars and fire engines. The officers holding my hands tight behind me loosened their grip and let my hands drop by my side. I stayed like that for a while. Kneeling on the floor looking despairingly at what used to be my road. Aiden came and knelt behind me, holding me tight.
"C'mon." He said gently and scooped me up like a kid having a tantrum. "Let's go back to mine."

And that was when the world fell apart. 12th November 2018. Town after town went down. There were rumors of ships taking people to the USA for safety. Whether that was true or not I didn't know- but it was about the only shot I had left. Aiden had been looking after me. The novelty soon wore thin after Brixton evaporated completely and he had to move. We didn't know where we would go. I was still deep in a haze of grief for everything. My family. Ria. Rob, Sam, Sergei. The Brixton Academy. My home. Next door's dog. Aiden's flat. The Immigrants. The UK. BMW. My favourite corner store that got closed down. Camden Lock. My friends. My possessions. My bracelet that was my bridesmaid's gift. Those tiny stretchy rubber men that I used to play with all the time. My bedroom. All my sex and the city DVDs. The smell of my Mum's perfume. My sister's hugs. My brother's annoying bow and arrow. My GHDs. The world.
Aiden was getting tiresome. He was gorgeous and all. Occasionally I got the temptation to just slam him down on the floor and kiss him hard. But I never did. I just sat there, staring out the window of the caravan we were living in. It wasn't our caravan. We didn't know who's it was. It was left there and we took it. It was strange, I've only ever cried about everything once since it happened. It was awful. But I haven't cried since then. That probably can't be very healthy, but there you go. People are always telling you to let it go- get it out of your system. That's all very well, but what happens when you do? What happens if it brings back all those emotions that you'd hidden for so long, and the only way you were still standing and the only thing keeping you together was holding those emotions in? So when you let them out you end up sobbing your heart out on the floor of a caravan, huddled in the corner where the big crack is and the mold is starting to spread, gasping for air because you've worked yourself up too much, crawling to the toilet before it's too late- whoops, now it is. There's vomit on the floor, you feel like death itself. In fact, you feel like grabbing that knife that seems so ultra-shiny and sparkling and plunging it deep into where it hurts the most- your heart. What happens then?
I'll tell you what happens then. Someone called Aiden, who has been good to you, has shared what little food and drink he can get with you, who has put a roof over your head, walks in. He stands, shocked at the sight. He's brought two guys over for a chat. Two guys that are going to help them get across the border into Ireland where they can get a ship to the USA. And instead of bursting in and shouting this news proudly to the tired and depressed friend of his, he ends up treading on her hair. It's sprayed out over the floor, covering her face. Good job too, because once he moved the hair he found her face covered with a mixture of vomit and blood. She'd drank so much. Injected so much. She couldn't feel herself. She'd lost touch. Lost all sense of being. Even just writing this it seems awful, but really I couldn't feel it. It was like an out-of-body-experience. It was like my soul was peaceful in this state. Like I was at rest. Or at least I was before Aiden and his buddies woke me up.
I looked dazedly into those dark eyes.
"What have you done?" He swallowed hard.
I couldn't speak. The only thing that came out was a fat teardrop that rolled down my cheek. 'I'm sorry!' Was what I wanted to say. I hadn't wanted to end everything. I just lost control of how much I drank. The more I drank, the worse I got. I didn't realise that. Before I knew it I was reaching for the shots of heroin Jack had slipped into my bag in case everything hadn't gone as planned that night. I fell. I was standing to try and sober up, to make an effort before Aiden got home, and I fell, straight on my face. I must have done something pretty bad 'cause there was a lot of blood. A lot of it.
Aiden scooped me up and dragged me off into the toilets. He turned the shower on and stripped me down to my underwear.
"Get in." He said and reached for the shampoo. "Bend over and shake your hair out." He washed my hair for me and scrubbed me down harshly with this ex-foliating soap thing.
He didn't bother to get me a towel. I stood there, dripping wet like I was the night we first met. He stood as far away from me as the tiny bathroom could allow.
"What were you thinking?"
"It... it wasn't how you think it was-" I stumbled.
"Oh really? So tell me Jessica. What did you do? How was it? Let me tell you how it was. You got so fed up of being stuck in this shithole. You started thinking of everything that's happened and you get sad. All you've been doing is staring out the same fucking window for ten days! You love it! You love the attention. If you really wanted to get better and get over it you would do." He just stood there, fuming. I could almost see steam coming out his ears.
I wanted to hit him. To hurt him. But I couldn't, I was too weak. I was shocked. This stupid, stunned expression was plastered on my face. Anger boiled up inside me, mixed with the kind of hurt that you can only feel when someone you like says something so awful completely unexpectedly.
I just looked at him. Bore right into those dark glistening eyes with contempt. I wouldn't make him think worse of me. I could do worse. I could have stayed and have trashed the whole place after hanging round a few weeks like a ghost. Sure, I had hit what I thought was rock bottom. But maybe this was just the beginning.
I made up my mind. I'd leave. He could go on with his life, run off to America and get on with everything. I'd leave and do my own thing. I could go now. Just grab my bag and what little possessions I had left and go.
I didn't though.
I stayed there in that shower. Still dripping. Still shocked. Still drunk and still bleeding. And he was still in front of me. Looking at me like he expected a smack in the face. By this time I had lost the small amount of dignified anger I had mustered before. Now I just looked trashed. I decided to make the first move.
"Fine, I won't say anything else to you. I won't mope around. Instead I'll conceal it all for you. I'll bottle it in and pretend to be fine." Was what I wanted to say. Really all I did was whisper "ok."