Christian

Five weeks.

“Morning Christian, glad to see you’re back, how are you doing?”

It’s been five weeks since she passed.

“Christian, let me be the first to share my condolences, your daughter was truly a beautiful human being and she-”

Five weeks.

Five weeks today.

Five weeks since she died.

And I don’t think I can go on with this emotional numbness for much longer.

Let alone find a reason to continue to live.

“Christian-”

“I’m fine, honestly,” I said, through my teeth as I took my seat at my desk at the back of the room, as my two colleagues anxiously hurried after me. “I’d just really appreciate being left alone for some time to reflect,” I picked up the picture frame of me and her on her seventeenth birthday three months ago. “Please.”

“Of course, but if you need more time,” My boss, Mark Anderson, insisted. He was a young man in his mid thirties and wore a charcoal grey suit, navy blue tie and almond coloured oxford brogues, and had a thick head of chocolate brown hair just as my Jenna did - they even had similar eyes too, fuck me, I just miss her so much. “It’s really not a problem, we’re more than happy to arrange further cover for you, I’d hate to think that you’re unnecessarily burdening yourself with more stress than you must already feel right now, Chris.”

As much as I appreciate that he fucking meant well part of me just wanted to shriek in his face and tell him to shut the fuck up and get back to his own perfect little life, with his wife and million pound a year salary. Fuck, I just hated it when people feigned sympathy to you, especially when deep down, as soon as you step outside the office door, they couldn’t care less. Anyway, side note, even if I chose to take more time off, what the fuck was I going to live on financially?

Fresh air?

“I said I’m fine,” I snapped, as my eyes caught the photo frame of me and Jenna I had close to the computer - to think that was only taken on her seventeenth birthday also (which was less than three months ago, fucking hell if I only knew that I’d have a matter of weeks left with her). We both looked so happy in the photo, her hair was fastened into two french plaits, as she modelled a Linkin Park t-shirt (that was her favourite band - she even got me onto them just as I got her into Manic Street Preachers), black choker, and matching black gel nails, as I had my arm around her proudly, where her friend Diana took the photo (she’s still absolutely beside herself she’s gone). “Please, I just want to be left alone.”

“Of course,” He nodded. “But please know that if today at any point you need to talk or need to return home, then my door is always open,” He smiled kindly. “Take care, Chris.”

God, the temptation to slap him one, whyever my old boss Tess couldn’t have stayed on another six months, I do not know.

At least she was somewhat on par with real people.

“Chris, chris?” Lucy, who sat to my right, whispered. Harmless kid, bless her, only finished her undergraduate six months ago (wants to be an actress just like my Jenna did - she had a drama talent alright), but fuck me she could be a dopey bitch sometimes. “Chris, are you alright? You look really pale and tired, are you sure you should be here?”

“Yeah,” I rubbed my eyes, as I logged onto the computer. “I,” I looked from forward and back to ensure no-one was intently listening. “To be honest, Luce, I haven’t really had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and especially since I buried Jen three days ago,” I paused as a tear rolled down my cheek. “Still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Hey it’s ok,” She said, gently. “You managed to face sorting her stuff out yet?”

“No,” I shook my head. “I just can’t go up in there, I can’t, I-”

“Thought you were meant to be working Chris,” I heard a stern voice say behind me. “Rather than sit here gossiping like an old woman.”

James Thomson.

“Oh what the fuck do you want?” I asked, turning around to look at him. He was a lanky man, in his early thirties, who wore a finely pressed navy blue suit and tie, black chinos and oxford brogues and fuck me he was one of the most infuriating pieces of shit I think I have ever met - who also, side note, really seemed to be over friendly to ever teen girl he met (hmm, say no more). “You gonna come here and have a go about how I’ve failed to be a decent father as well or are you actually here to genuinely share your condolences for my loss?”

And boy didn’t I fucking hate him, alright?

“Christian I-”

“No you listen here,” I chucked my headset down on the desk and squared up to his face as I felt rage boil within my voice. “You have no idea, no fucking idea, what I’m going through right now, from the pain nor numbness I feel inside to the fact where right now I’m quite happily contemplating suicide,” I pushed him back. “Contemplating suicide to the point that I’d be very happy to go and throw myself out of the window,” I pointed to the central window of the floor. “Right here, right now, if it means that I could be reunited with my Jenna again, and get away from this hellhole of a town this place is becoming.”

“Christian, I know you’re upset,” He said, pleaing with me. “But please, displacing your anger on those who are just trying to help you-”

“Help?” I shook my head. “You’ve never tried to help me?” I pushed him backwards. “You might be this intelligent, upper class graduate who thinks the world is his fucking oyster well let me tell you something, the world doesn’t work that way.”

“And nor does it work for recovering alcoholics like you who think that they can go around talking down to those who pay their bills like the scavs they are-”

“You fucking prick,” I growled recklessly punching him in his smug ridden face. “You know what, I quit this shitty job, this crappy office, this town, this life,” I shouted looking around the room. “As of tomorrow, I’m gone, and I’m going to make myself a new life elsewhere.”

And find happiness elsewhere.

Even if that seemed like a bleak and meaningless pledge right now.

Chapter One: "Just Prisoners of This Life": (II)

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