7 October
Could my life possibly be any more tragic? No it could not, because I’m crying here in the toilet cubicle at work, while snorting speed.
My God. I cannot get my head around the idea that Scott thought I’d Super-Liked him by mistake. Had he never seen himself in the mirror? But in the same way that chemical depression can be untouched by the good things happening in your life, negative self-esteem can be so firmly rooted in your past that even winning Sex Symbol Of The Year might not have changed how Scott saw himself.
I should know.
All this time, I’ve cursed Scott’s name. I’ve tried to hunt down this supposed Lothario and bring him to his knees, but it seems I was wrong. Scott genuinely liked me, and he saw the same kind of vulnerability in me that I saw in him. Like he said, his approach was indeed seriously weird and creepy, not to mention dishonest and plain wrong. But… I don’t know, more than anything else, I’m blown away that he was kind of the opposite of what I’d assumed. What’s the betting that Ray bullshitted about Scott being a sleazy ladies’ man, thinking it’d make me more likely to hook up with him instead?
And now it’s too late. Scott may well have been dead since the day he disappeared. All I can do now is find out who killed him. Might the rest of these diary entries point the finger at Ray? He’s been calling Scott’s phone all day without leaving any voicemail, but what if he’s only covering his tracks – playing the role of the concerned brother? Part of me actually hopes he did kill Scott, purely so I can nail the fucker. Thanks to all of Scott’s lies, he and I could never have continued in a romantic mode, but reading these last two entries has left my heart in pieces.
I really hope this amphetamine sulphate pulls me through the shift, but can it also stem the tears? Might make me even more emotional.
I’m dying to read the next entry, I Am In Love With V. The title continues to baffle me, and I still have no idea what Scott means by The Demon. What the hell is that all about? Infuriatingly, I’ve run out of time. Tyler has already waited by the ambulance for ten minutes. Got to pull myself together, then use the bathroom mirror to sort my face and check my nostrils for speed-flakes. How I wish I had time to polish my boots and do even one gratitude, but we’re already so late.
Hello again, God. I know I asked a big favour of you last night, but here’s another request: please don’t let me gurn too much. Especially not in front of patients.
Oh, and while I’m asking for favours, please grant me the strength not to sneak a look at I Am In Love With V when I’m supposed to be helping people.
I can do this. I know I can.
“Why didn’t she look where she was going? I’ll fucking kill her. Please don’t try and stop me or I’ll fight you too.”
Gently as I can manage, considering that I’m off my tits on drugs, I place my hands on Aisha’s shoulders to keep her seated on the grass verge where I’ve taken her. “Please,” I say, “I know this is the worst moment of your life, but I can’t have you attacking the driver or anyone else. You also have serious injuries. This arm is broken in at least two places, so I need you to remain very still for me.”
Of course, the morning had to feature a major accident on this busy stretch of the A23, which the police are now cordoning off. Tyler and I are waiting for more ambulances to arrive. The air is full of horn parps from motorists, probably including some entitled fucks who actually know there’s been a serious accident but simply don’t care.
When I led Aisha out of her Ford Focus, I tried to position her so that she wouldn’t be able to see her husband Doug in the passenger seat, with half of his head missing. She keeps turning to look, though. She may want, or need, to see, to help her come to terms with how the elderly driver of a four-by-four careered into them twenty minutes ago.
“Did you see his head?” she says, her eyes brimming. “Did you see what that evil bitch did to him?”
“Yes,” I say. “I saw. And I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
I watch, as my confirmation that Aisha has lost Doug corrodes her from within. A full meltdown is imminent and I’d love to join her. Glancing over at what remains of her husband, I wonder if Scott died that brutally or that suddenly. Can there be such a thing as the ideal way to die, when you don’t want to go? Passing softly in your sleep? Somehow, I doubt Scott was afforded that mercy.
Got to pull myself together, right now. Got to keep my face in check.
“He’s gone somewhere, you know,” I say. Aisha is lost in her own devastation, so I doubt she’ll notice the slight waver in my voice. “Doug has gone somewhere else. You will see him again, one day.”
But hopefully not at ten past midnight, as his strobing blue spirit wends and weaves down a hill towards you…
“Do you… really believe that,” Aisha splutters, as I hand her another tissue, “or is… is that something… you say to everyone?”
Looking her squarely in the eye, I say, “I swear to you, Aisha. I really do believe.”
When you’re trying to convey your sincerity, speed truly comes into its own. Hoping that Aisha hasn’t noticed my whole “not blinking” thing, I shift into a position that allows me to deliver a gentle hug without adding to the pain in her broken arm.
As Aisha snots all her grief onto my shoulder, I notice Tyler walk past poor dead Doug in the car, closer than he strictly needs to go.
The big ox hangs around the car window, blocking my view of Doug. He glances around, drops his phone into his pocket and walks away.