Clack. “I love you. Everything’s OK. I’m coming back.” Clack.
I don’t know what this place is. Everyone here looks so lost. They just sit there, in wheelchairs, looking lost. No-one’s helping them, and it’s heartbreaking, but I don’t know what I can do.
I wish I knew where Chris was. The bathroom? I want to ask him what we’re doing here, when we can leave.
It smells of, I don’t know, ointment. I don’t know which ointment, but it feels like it would be an ointment. I feel like the people here need a lot of ointment.
He’s taking a long time. I don’t know how long now. I have this after-image of him in that armchair, like he just got up for a second, but maybe he’s been gone a long time.
I’m worried now. I’m worried about me. I feel like this isn’t normal, not to know these things. I feel like I’m in a dream. I feel lost.
I suddenly realise there’s something in my hand. I don’t recognise it. It’s boxy and smooth and grey. My hands know it but I don’t know why and I’m scared and sick at how lost I am now.
I think Chris has gone. I think he’s just gone, and I’ll never know why or what I did wrong or what this place is.
My thumb is on a button and it wants to push it.
Clack. “I love you. Everything’s OK. I’m coming back to pick you up at six, same as always.”