3 October
Here’s the calm after the storm.
The sole evidence that the bed was ever here comes courtesy of the four carpet marks left behind by those fancy metal feet.
Both side tables: gone.
Walk-in wardrobe: empty.
I can’t believe this barren space is the same room in which Scott and I created our bubble. Surely this cannot be the safe haven which rendered the outside world an afterthought. I wonder briefly if I’ve broken into the wrong flat, but then I remember the unique wolf knocker. Besides, Flat Twenty-Three is definitely the one to which I sent Scott’s birthday card, two months back.
Floating back along the hallway, I struggle to comprehend the sheer nothingness of the whole flat.
Trying to grasp what’s happened here feels like trying to grab smoke.
By the time I’ve completed my circuit back to the living room, I’m determined to remain calm and positive. It seems so far-fetched that Scott really would bail on our relationship, especially in such a ridiculously extreme manner. I simply cannot bring myself to believe it. I won’t.
My eye flounders around in the nothingness once again…
… before being lured to the thing on the sliding door that leads to the grey, windswept balcony.