She woke up at 3am, fifth night in a row. She had stopped trying to figure out the cause of her inability to sleep soundly by the third night, as she knew the reason had to be one of two choices. As she sat on the bed, staring at the fading moonlight, contemplating, she knew that this was something she could not escape from. Throughout the years she had envisioned a stable, normal life for herself, one where she could feel safe and comfortable in the knowledge that everything was under control. It was only tonight that she realised, once and for all, that her only form of comfort was that he would be back one day, and her only ability to control lies in the very thought of this single person.
She reached over to her bedside table, opened the drawer and pulled out, with care so as not to crease it in the slightest, a letter that had been sitting quietly inside for a few days. She unfolded it, and stared at the handwriting. It was a familiar style, so much so that she could follow each pen stroke with her eyes and write the entire letter out with her mind, complete with every flick of the pen or uncrossed t’s. The nostalgic emotions came sweeping over, but unlike the past, she did not feel the warmth. In its place was a sense of dread, as if she realised she were trapped. She could not explain this feeling, but she didn’t feel the need to either. Many things that she had experienced could not be explained, and leaving it that way worked well for her.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hi, Susan. Sorry to call you at this hour, but it’s an emergency. Could you please book a ticket to London for me, just one. Tomorrow, as soon as possible. Thanks a lot.”