After the Fire

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This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either

an addiction, the same as all the others. Just less honest, perhaps.

He is a bad son. He should have stayed here, taken care of her. Not moved away to London and his life of debauchery. But his sanity – already so fragile, already hanging on by a thread – depends on him being able to escape from this most of the time. From being able to put it in a box and pretend it doesn’t exist.

A small thrill at the thought of this unexpected excitement, punctuating his hectic Wednesday, like a shooting star appearing from nowhere in the blackest night sky.

She learnt that the key to it all was to keep busy. That there’s nothing more dangerous for your mental health than empty time and an empty head.

She tilts her face towards his and he kisses her, the sensation so overwhelming it leaves him light-headed. His arms are around her waist and he feels his knees go weak with it, and his brain closes down and there’s no thoughts anymore, no muddled-up, messed-up, over-anxious thoughts, there’s only the feeling of her body against his, and the knowledge that he wants her, utterly and completely, and that he may do forever.

At least he tried. It’s all you can do. Throw your best efforts out into the world and see which of them take off.

she could think of something, anything, to say. But the more she searches, the harder it seems.

The dead are only truly dead when they are forgotten.

She lost her virginity to him in a tent and told herself it was OK that the experience was completely underwhelming, because it was meant to be. But afterwards, whenever she thought about it, she burst into tears.