I tug her into me, hold on tight, and run my fingers down that body I’ve fucked, adored, admired, worshipped, loved. I kiss her on the lips and do my damn hardest never to forget the taste of lemon drops.
‘Just in case. Just in case I’m not a monster.’
I tell her to wait for me in my car. Then I turn and head back into the woods.
Cross my heart and hope to die, that the liar in me is dead.
54
ME
Five years ago . . .
HM Prison and Young Offenders Institution, Nazareth
So this is it. This is how I’m gonna die.
On my own. In a cell. With a dirty sheet wrapped around my neck.
As soon as the guard closes the door behind him after the hourly check, I get to work, ripping the sheet into shreds with a strength I didn’t think I had anymore, getting them to the right size to do the job properly. Quickly. Before I change my mind.
I thought I could do this but it turns out I can’t. I can’t take the pain. I can’t take the nightmares. Without the drugs, alcohol, and the gang fam, every time I close my eyes, I can see Mr Finchley towering over me, hear him shouting at me. I can hear the other inmates telling each other what they’re gonna do to me while I’m sleeping.
When I open my eyes, I can still hear them talking. I can feel the things they’ve put inside me crawling all over me, eating their way out. I can see them moving under my skin. I’ve got blood under my fingernails from scratching, but nothing is gonna stop them. Nothing except this. I want to close my eyes one last time and not see anything ever again. Never hear anything. Never feel anything. I want this to be done.
Nobody loves me.
Nobody will miss me.
My mother and father threw me away like trash. Left me for dead.
I know this works. I can’t get out of this room by walking. I can’t jump. I’ve got no pills to take. I can’t cut myself. But they’ve left me one escape. The sheet is a rope now. Like my roommate said, one end tied around the bars on the window will do it. The bars won’t let me down. They’re designed to keep me in. They’re not going anywhere. They’re going to do their job.
Tying the sheet around one, I pull hard on the knot to make sure it’ll hold. The thin cotton tautens around the metal so that the only way to get it off will be with a knife. Same around my neck and . . . Is this the proper knot? I’ve never seen it done in real life. I’m guessing. I don’t want to get it wrong. I don’t want to fuck even this up. When I drop back, it has to get tighter fast, so I don’t get a chance to think about it. I don’t want time to chicken out.
One end around the window bars. The other round my neck. This should be simple. I kneel in the middle of the floor to say one last prayer, looking like the dog that used to live at the end of the children’s home. Chained by the neck, day in, day out. Barking, barking, barking, going mad. What was he even born for? What was I even born for? Who gives a shit anymore?
I say my goodbyes. Nobody will hear them. I say my sorrys too. Sorry, Diana, that you’re gonna have to see me on a slab. Sorry Amylocks . . . Sorry I couldn’t be a better man, sorry for being scum of the earth and killing the only bright in my dark . . .
Turns out that I am a piece of shit, and now I’m gonna die like one. At fifteen, I’m gonna die with a sheet wrapped round my neck, stinking of piss, sweat and tears. Looking like the loser I am.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Do it. Do it, you fucking coward.
The voices want one last say.
Get on with it.
I get up from the floor, then I get on the bed and lie down. I just have to roll off the side. The drop doesn’t need to be big. It just needs to be definite. Holding the sheet rope, I get into position. Then I let go. The bed disappears from under me and . . .
I roll off the bed, jerking my head back harder than I expect. It knocks the breath out of me, squeezes my windpipe so hard I can’t take another. Instinctively, my hands go to my neck. I try to loosen the noose. No chance. It’s too good. For once, I’ll actually get something right.
Jesus Christ.
Nothing to do but let it happen.
Then I see her, smiling up at me.
Amy Earhart.
I’d ripped out the article in the newspaper, the one about Amy running a marathon to help raise funds for the children’s home. She smiles up at me, like she’s the happiest girl in the world.
Where there is colour, there is hope.
And fuck, I suddenly don’t want to die. I want to get out. I want to tell Amy I’m sorry for what I did to her. I want to tell her that I fucking love her.
I scrabble to free myself. I’m on my back. My heels slide along the floor. I can’t get my feet under me to lift me up and out of danger. Darkness starts to creep in at the edges of my vision. Of all the mistakes I’ve ever made, this one is the fucking worst.
I can’t loosen the noose. I can’t cry out. I’m fucked. So absolutely fucked. I can only go through with it. I
