I hear my mother sighing on the other end before we hang up, the cheerful coat of varnish cracking when she thinks I can’t hear her anymore. Knowing she’s given up on me shouldn’t come as a surprise, I’ve been stuck for years now, but it stings my eyes and puts a lump in my throat.

My eyes register the colours of spring outside of my window, if I were to open it I might be able to make out the sound of birds in the trees on the sidewalk. But I know I won’t. Instead I go into the kitchen to turn the kettle on and I realise I might not have anything to eat, besides cereal from the box, and I really don’t want to think I’ve sunk that low. Yet. Arming myself with a cuppa strong black tea I get out of my PJ’s.

Dressed in black tights, a black wrap dress and clunky black boots, and shielding myself with bright red lipstick and large sunnies I feel slightly less not-ready to handle the world outside. Bright. The midday sun is bright, even behind my shades. Why can’t this town stay in perpetual twilight and be covered in mist?

The small grocery store smells of spice and bleach. Slowly walking between the shelves, aligning cans and turning packets of instant soup upside down, I try to remember what counts as food and what’s considered birthday party snacks. I sometimes get them wrong and end up eating frosting with a spoon for supper.

I remember I like apples. And that I haven’t made sushi in forever. My feet take me down to the freezers, my cold hands don’t register the shift in temperature. Ice cream tastes good with late night films. All the sushi things are in one place, neatly stacked next to each other.

The girl at the register smiles at me, a genuine smile, not the tired kind you usually get from people in stores. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch. A natural response to a kind gesture. Nothing more. She tells me to have a good day. I choke on my words and hurry out into the sunlight.

Keeping to the shaded side of the street I manage to get all the way home without bumping into and having to say excuse me to anyone. If only Mrs Craft hadn’t been trying to get her dogs into the lift, then I wouldn’t be standing here, holding the small one. My groceries are on the stairs where her tiny rat-dogs can’t tear at them and Mrs Craft is gently scolding one of them for trying to hump his brother instead of doing as his “mother” said. Why she keeps five of these I don’t know.

A missed call. A text. I turn my phone upside down, this calls for another cuppa. I put the kettle on. I stare at my phone. I unpack my groceries. One eye on the black thing on the kitchen table. I make a strong cup of tea, add milk. Giving my phone my most vicious death stare. It stays silent.

The sun is going down, bathing the houses across the street in pinks and yellows. I remember to take my boots off and go find the knitted socks granny gave me. I want to go back to bed, but mother’s sigh is still echoing in my mind. Even though I’ve given up on myself I can’t let her down.

I have freshly made sushi is waiting for me in the fridge. The apples are artistically stacked in a large bowl. I colour my hair bright red and contemplate changing my name. Maybe there’s one to be found beneath this dead layer of skin. Scrubbing vigorously reveals nothing but the same, it’s me all over again. Nothing new. Nothing exciting. Nothing.

The dark purple silk kimono has too many memories to be tossed out with the trash. There’s even a few pleasant ones, from the time before. My timeline has forever been divided into a before and an after. Before is a fuzzy time, full of pleasant dreamlike images of summer. After is this. This everyday darkness in the middle of everybody else’s bright lights.

My wet hair is twisted into a messy bun on the top of my head. I stop every time I spot my reflection, the bright red is going to get some getting used to. A new me of sorts. Maybe this time I’ll manage to create a new after. Changing my twitter handle to Neon Nymph. Spending an absurd amount of time shooting and editing a new avatar.

My phone lights up with a number it doesn’t recognise, but I know it. By heart. I let it go to my non-existing voice mail. Before the screen goes black again there’s a text. I can’t avoid seeing what it says. I know you’re home. There’s light and movement in your window. Answer me. Please. Don’t you dare pretend I don’t exist! Don’t you dare shut me out! You promised! I let the screen go black again. It starts ringing, thank god I always keep it on silent.

Another text lights up the screen. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I deserve this silent treatment. I should have come back sooner. Forgive me. My fingers are hovering over the words. Slowly I force them into a fist. Carefully I get up and take my sushi to the sofa and start the first film I see on Netflix.

There’s a rustling by the door. Without pausing the film I place the plate of uneaten sushi on the floor and quietly walk towards it. The sound is heard again. Paper on wood. A note slides through the crack by the floor. You are everything. Light. Air. Blood. Heart. Beauty. I am nothing without you. I am empty. Same words. Different medium. I’ll open the door. I’ll let it happen again. But this time, this time I’m all out of tears.