Page 167 of Lessons In Grey
“Hey, he’s almost here,” Jeremy said from the doorway.
I continued to strum. “I’m being childish,” I told him, my eyes falling to the strings, my fingers bright red. It wasn’t uncommon for it to be this cold in February. The snow had finally come, sticking around for some time now. Christmas, while it had been better than last year, had lacked its normal cheer this year. It snowed the day after Grey had left. How was I supposed to feel happy about that? He was supposed to have been here for that.
“Yeah,” he said on a breath.
I stopped, shooting a glare at him.
He shrugged, walking up to the railing only to turn and lean back against it. “I’m not going to lie to you, we made a pact.”
My eyes narrowed and a strummed another chord. “You’re supposed to make me feel better.”
“There is no making you feel better, Emily, you’re holding onto that anger with a vice grip. You don’t like that he left, you don’t want to fight with him, everything you’re feeling is normal, but you won’t listen to us tell you that it’s normal and that you should fight. It is childish. You’re being a child.”
I stood with a huff and headed inside, the warm air sending a shiver down my spine. “Grey and I didn’t reach the end of the seventh season ofDoctor Whobefore he left. In the last episode of that season, he regenerates,” I explained, setting my guitar on its stand as he shut the door behind us. “I hate it. I hate endings. I hate that he hated endings and in the end, he gave this brilliantspeech about how he would always remember when the Doctor was him, and the first time I watched it, I sobbed like a child because it was the end of everything. Everything important, everything good, everything…” My heart thudded, the tears filling my throat.
I cleared it and shook my head, turning on him. “I wasn’t ever going to watch it again. I made the step in rewatching those seasons with him, but I was never going to watch that last episode, I wasn’t strong enough. I know it sounds stupid to most people. How could anyone mean that much to someone, especially if that person is someone fictional, but that’s the point.”
Jeremy’s eyes shifted into something like pity.
“It’s fictional, it isn’t supposed to end. That stupid fictional person kept me alive, gave me hope, a friend. His speeches, his quotes, the way he saw the world and went about it, it made sense to me, and then this stupid fuckingguyshows up at a random gas station, and I’m drunk and going through shit, and I decide to talk to him, and he’shim. He’s that fictional character but with a lot more tattoos and a cigarette in his mouth and molded out of bad decisions and clever words. He made sense to me.”
“He’s not dead, Emily.”
“Neither was the Doctor!” I snapped. “But to Clara? Sometimes fictional people are the only family you’ve got, and it’s so hard to explain to people who haven’t experienced it, but whether it be a book character or some nutty fucking alien with two hearts, the experience, that feeling, it’s the same. He hated endings. That’s why he ripped out the last chapter of the book. This,” I said, gesturing to everything, “it’s the last chapter.”
He straightened, his brows furrowing then. “Emily, what are you talking about?”
“I will always remember the person I was when I was with him,” I said, my eyes filling, my insides shaking, my panic growing and growing, “and I hate him for it. I do. I really, truly do.”
Jeremy took a step forward as if he could see the panic that shook through me. “He’s coming back, Emily, why are you talking as if he’s not?”
Because it was easy to believe all of the shit he said when I could look him in the eyes and see the truth behind his words, but anyone could write a text. Anyone could make a call and say important things, and make it sound good, but the eyes never lie, and it was getting harder and harder as the days went on to remember that he cared for me. That he gave a single fuck about me. That out of every other person in all the world, I was important enough for someone like him.
I worked my jaw and shook my head. What was I saying? Why couldn’t I stop? I needed to take more medication. I needed to take control over my mind again. Why couldn’t I control it? It wasmymind. “He should have remained fictional,” I said just as the elevator dinged.
I glanced towards it and turned then back to him, quickly wiping under my eyes. “Are we giving everyone keys these days? That’ssuchbullshit.”
His eyes flicked to the gate and back. “It’s Grey’s key. You have a key, I have a key, and Greyson has a key.”
My heart slammed painfully, my eyes widening. “You told me it wasn’t fucking Grey.”
His shoulders fell, guilt touching his eyes. “It’s not.”
And despite myself, that little piece of hope inside of me that I thought I had gotten rid of, it shattered.
The gate slid open, and I turned, finding Malachi walking out of the elevator, hat in hand, coat draped over his arm as if he had just walked out of an old mafia movie. He smiled brightly. “Emily, you have such a lovely home.”
I rolled my shoulders, my anger falling into a soft smile. Deep breath, be a good host, try and control your mind. “Thank you. Would you like a drink?” I asked, heading for the kitchen.
“If you wouldn’t mind. What is your selection? Goodafternoon, Jeremy.”
“Hey, boss.”
I opened the cabinets, taking my time in looking through the bottles just to get my mind in order, my thoughts straightened out. “Reds, whites, scotch, all top quality. Nothing under $500.”
“Such divine taste, I’ll take your best quality red, thank you. May I ask where Ash and Syn are? I was hoping to meet your friends.”
I pulled out my most expensive bottle of red, one I hadn’t actually touched yet. “They’re still in classes,” I told him, pulling out two glasses. “They might join for dinner, but they’ve been spending more time together as the year comes to a close.”