Day 62 / 20:22
Each entry in his journal gives Noah an increased sense of release. But that’s often tempered by intense fear. He’s scared of digging too deep, finding himself so far underground he’ll never find his way back up again. He’s in Greenhills to find ways of understanding himself, to recognise patterns and habits, to uncover stuff, layer by layer. Uncovering, discovering, recovering. These are words that scare him. Especially when he thinks about that night.
He can’t discuss it. The moment he tries, the Dark envelops him. The moment he opens his mouth to speak, he sees that gun, gleaming in the dull night light, pointing at his mother.
Will he ever be able to talk about it, from beginning to end, in his own words? Will he be able to force the words out, expose himself to suffocating fear? Talk about it without tapping, without counting, without feeling horror surge inside him? Just writing this, his breathing’s speeding up and the Dark is hovering, ready to consume him.
No, Noah can’t afford to lose control. And if that means that he has to sacrifice closeness to the people he loves, there’s nothing he can do about that.
Such lofty aims, such agonising. But do you not realise—
He snaps his notebook shut, imagines for one blissful moment that he’s trapped all fear inside it, squashed flat like a bug.
It’s time to put the kettle on. Juliet will be here any minute now, and they have to finalise their plans for getting to see an old lady in frail care.