RESPIRE (LGBTQIA+)

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VI. HOME

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KAL'S P.O.V

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IT HAS BEEN NEAR ENOUGH over a week and a half, and this week and a bit have felt like two long months. Time had slowed and dragged through twenty-four hours, remaining at the side of Nichole where I had been sitting and sleeping to keep my word that I was staying with her and I was not going to leave. She has spoken the same amount of words I can count on one hand. Also, within these past two weeks, I have finally learnt what it feels like to be numb on the inside, and no matter how much I try to chip away at it, it just covers over with thicker skin than before. I couldn't even think straight. I feel like the matters revolving around this keep screaming at me, only to force it silent every time she moves an inch or makes a sound like she can hear me screaming from the inside while I was trying to remain silent and calm on the outside to reassure her that it was over.

For now, anyway.

I knew deep inside and with a heavy heart that this would not be the hard part, that her escape was the easiest part. I know that when the social workers turn up, I have to leave the room, even though no matter how much I tell them I want to stay, they insist that I leave the room when I know that it is more for me than her. I'll be honest I'm glad that they are always present when the police come in to ask questions. I know sooner or later, once she is better and the trial begins, she gets to put across her testimony and give her verbal evidence that she will be doing it over a video recording to go towards the photographic evidence and the witness statements from the officers on that day. I was more worried about how she was going to cope emotionally and mentally when dragging it all up and remembering whatever it was that he did.

I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulder, stirring me awake into a slight panic to come face to face with Ben before I quickly looked over at Nichole to see she was sleeping peacefully for the first time since arriving here.

"I got you a coffee," he smiled as he handed it to me. "How is she?" asking the inevitable question everyone seems to ask. We all knew the answer was that she was anything but fine.

"She has just finally fallen asleep about two hours ago." I wished I could take the night terrors away, ideally wiping her mind clean of what had happened. Maybe if I had listened to my gut, this would not have happened how it did. "Thank you," I tried to smile back when I took the drink.

The silence was louder than it should be between us while we sipped at our coffees before Ben pulled a chair up to Nichole's bedside, stirring her awake when she sat up in bed, her chest beginning to heave in panic as she looked around the room. I gently took her hand in mine as she pulled away from the sudden touch. I hushed to calm her down when I repeatedly told her that she was safe, leaving me to feel like I had just told her the biggest lie of all, only to rub salt into the wound when I told her she was fine on top of it. And for the millionth time, I let the guilt cut through me. She couldn't close her eyes for ten minutes without panicking and thinking she was back in that house. Like life was playing a cruel joke.

In the last three days, she has barely slept. Three whole nights. Seventy-two hours of constantly waking up. Whenever she did fall asleep, it would come down to exhaustion, leaving it out of her hands.

Over the past week, I have had to sit and have various interviews with the police and social workers to gain their approval for her to come home with me, having to have a conversation with the mental health team to talk about a crisis plan and everything else in between. If I did have to leave Nichole's side, then Ben would take over, making sure she wasn't alone and that someone was always with her, even if it be a health worker.