"I don't know how you're sleeping on that thing," Youssef declared as he perched himself on the edge of his wooden coffee table.

"I don't really sleep much these days," I murmured as forced myself to sit up. The couch was admittedly lumpy, but I didn't much care.

Youssef pulled a face as he passed me the mug of tea he had been holding. "You sleep all the time."

My arms felt heavy as I robotically lifted them to accept the mug. "Do I?"

"Uh... yes."

"Oh."

"Drink," he said after a minute. Then he gestured toward the mug in my hand for added emphasis.

I stared down at it.

He leaned forward, which he likely immediately regretted. I hadn't bathed since the last time Tom carried me into the bathroom, however long ago that was. I'd been at Youssef's for two days now—maybe three—so I couldn't have smelt pleasant. I didn't care. Apparently Youssef didn't either. He didn't lean back.

"Drink, Emma. You'll feel better."

"No I won't," I whispered.

"You feel like you're suffocating now. But eventually... you'll breathe again."

At that my eyes suddenly flew to life and met his. I hadn't mentioned my... episodes to him. Not to anyone.

I hadn't told about my moments—or were they hours?—of breathlessness, of feeling like my lungs had collapsed like a deflated balloon. I hadn't told about the recurring nightmares I had of being buried alive, choking on damp dirt. I woke up coughing sometimes, but somehow I'd managed to avoid waking Tom.

"H-how?"

Youssef merely shrugged. "You just... do with time. I suppose it's a natural human instinct, breathing."

I felt a warm tear slide down my cheek. "That's just the issue," I croaked, not able to free my gaze from his.

"What is?"

I shook my head, sending a second tear flying. "I don't want to breathe. A-and I don't think time fixes that."

He narrowed his gaze on mine for several thundering heartbeats. Then, suddenly, he was there next to me on the couch wrapping his arm tightly around my shoulders and pulling me into him. "Perhaps not. But tea might. Drink, Emma."

I could feel his fingers pressing into my skin, almost painfully. I could feel his chest against my shoulder, could feel it expanding and deflating as if modeling to me how to breathe.

And yet, I didn't feel anything.

I lifted the mug towards him to take. "Maybe later, Youssef. I think... I think I'll just rest my eyes for a minute."

He pushed the mug back toward me resolutely. "Not till that's empty."

I blinked up at him confused, but he merely shrugged. "You've been here two days and I haven't seen you drink or eat anything. My mother would be shocked if a guest of mine fainted from dehydration in my house. Drink."

It wasn't a request. It wasn't anything to think about. It was an order.

Over the last several weeks, not thinking was something I had become quite adept at. I did what he said and hissed as the steaming liquid scalded my chapped lips.

He tsk-ed at me as he stole the mug back, blew on it several times, took a sip to test the temperature and then handed it back to me expectantly.

I suddenly had the urge to roll my eyes, but instead I simply took the mug back and let the shockingly bitter flavor wash over my taste buds.

It was a cooking show, I think. I don't know. I wasn't really watching it. Whatever it was, it cut to commercial. Youssef turned toward me and opened his mouth to say something but the trill of his cell phone interrupted him.

"Excuse me," he murmured as he got up to find it. He picked it up on the third ring.

I finally tore my eyes away from the telly when I felt Youssef's gaze on me. I glanced over my shoulder and found him leaning in the doorway.

"Yeah, she's alright..." he sighed. He nodded, to me or the person on the phone I wasn't sure. "You have my word... Alright, cheers."

I watched as he ended the call and then fiddled with the darkened phone in his hands.

"Was that—?"

"Charlie."

I caught the faintest tint of a blush as he slid the phone into his back pocket. I blinked.

"You and Charlie? But when—"

"We met at the gala you brought me to and just sort of... hit it off," he shrugged as he walked back over to the couch.

"And you gave him your number?"

He grinned at that. "He asked for it."

He sobered then and glanced over at me, almost nervously. "You don't have to worry, though. I didn't tell him anything other than you were safe."

"Thanks," I mumbled. "How long have you two...?"

"Just a couple weeks. It isn't anything serious though."

My lips twisted in what might have once passed for a smile. "It is if he's calling you."

He laughed before nudging his shoulder into mine. "He was calling after you just now."

My attempt of a smile faltered as I turned back to the telly. "Your program's back on."

When the program ended, Youssef muted the volume. He carefully set the remote on the arm rest of the couch before turning to face me expectantly.

After a minute of silence he huffed impatiently. "So, what do you choose?"

I glanced over at him. "I'm fine going to sleep if you're tired."

Even in the near dark I could see him shake his head in disbelief. "That was your and Tom's whole arrangement wasn't it?"

My whole body cringed at the mere sound of his name.

"Trying on marriage like a pair of trousers at a store. So... what did you chose, Emma?"

I shrugged. "I didn't."

"Seems like you did. You're here and not there for starters. You won't answer his calls."

"I don't have anything to say," I muttered.

"Of course you do!" He exclaimed. "You're a writer—"

"No, I'm not!"

It was the most forcefully I'd spoken to him since that first day we met in Hay.

It was the most forcefully I'd spoken to anyone since Alice.

Youssef waited silently. I balled my hands into fists.

"She was the writer. She was creativity and everything good a-and full of life! She was fearless and loving and wise—so wise. She was the writer. I'm nothing."

"You'll write again, Emma."

I shook my head adamantly. "No I won't. I don't want to."

Youssef nodded at that. I let out a sigh of relief.

He understood.

When he spoke again it was quiet and far off sounding, as if suddenly he was no longer sitting beside me on the couch.

"I came over on one of those dingies, you know. There were fifty of us. But only a dozen or so made it to the beach. The rest washed up later... There wasn't enough room on the dingy—not nearly enough—and life jackets just took up too much room, or so said the captain."

He laughed, before repeating the title with contempt I'd never thought my friend capable of. "Captain. It was reckless and stupid, and we all knew it. But what choice did we have? After the things we'd seen..."

Shadows passed over his eyes, but it wasn't from the headlights of the lorry rumbling down the road outside.

"The choice had been made long before any of us stepped foot on the raft. We'd made the choice—after everything—we made the choice to live. Or die trying."

Suddenly his hands gripped my shoulders.He squeezed them tightly, as if he could squeeze some energy, some life into me. "You have to try, Emma."

"I-I don't know how."

I had lost one friend. Youssef had lost... so much more. To compare his grief to mine was shameful, and the fact that this man who had survived so much felt compelled to comfort me was even more so.

I knew it was selfish of me.

I'd known for weeks I'd been selfishly absorbed in my pitiful universe. I knew I'd abandoned Tom—poor, sweet, loving Tom—long before I left our flat. I knew I was hurting him. I knew I was scaring my mum. I knew all of this, I just... didn't care.

I wanted to care—I desperately wanted to care. But I couldn't.

I had cared so much and for so long. It wasn't just these past few weeks I'd felt like I was drowning. If I was honest, it started before I'd even met Alice. It started with him.

With my dad.

Looking back, I realize I'd never learned to swim in my grief. There were no lessons, no kiddy-pool to practice in. And even if there had been, there hadn't been the time to learn.

The second I got off that plane and into Trisha's car there had been consultations to have and decisions to make. I didn't have time for my grief, I had to make funeral arrangements and see hospital bills were paid and—my god—the sheer volume of paperwork. Who knew death required so much bloody paper work?!

I never got to say goodbye to my papa. But I told myself I didn't need to. I already knew what he would tell me:

Take care of your mother.

And that's what I did.

There was no time for my grief as I held her through hers. When it seemed she'd finally moved through the stages, the world seemed to have already moved through them as well.

There just wasn't time.

Then came Alice.

Youssef squeezed my shoulders harder. "Call him, Emma. At least let Tom know you're safe."

"He's probably relieved I'm gone."

I hadn't realized I said it out loud till my chin was firmly in Youssef's hand and angled so we were practically nose to nose.

"No one would be relieved if you stopped existing on this earth, do you hear me? In fact quite a few of us would be devastated."

Salt rushed my eyes as I felt my lower lips give out to unstoppable trembling. Youssef let out a heavy sigh before pulling me into his chest and stroking my hair.

💕