Poison Blood, Book 2: Absolution Page 28

  Chapter 1. Block

  The soundless void in his head drowned out the pitter patter of the splattering shower water. Jamie didn’t understand what his flatmate Matt was complaining about. The water didn’t feel colder––or warmer––than usual.

  Then again, Jamie wasn’t the most sensitive person in the world.

  Unlike Matt, Jamie didn’t turn the heating on before having a shower. He didn’t hug himself in a huge robe and jog back to his bedroom afterwards. Didn’t spend a full hour styling himself before heading out. No. Jamie simply rubbed his towel vigorously through his wet hair. It dried into whichever shape and form the towel left it in.

  And stayed that way.

  Jamie didn’t dress like his flatmate, either. A high-flying accountant in the City, Matt needed to look sharp and professional at all times. All Jamie needed to do at work was make sure he didn’t slap pencil cases with the price labels reserved for pencils. Yes, there was more to his role than that, but he wasn’t bothered about becoming Employee of the Month at the stationary shop on Borough High Street where he worked as Retail Assistant.

  He hated his job, but was too apathetic to get another one.

  Jamie closed his eyes. The water, the small white-tiled bathroom, everything, faded away. He slid into his inner world where nothing could reach him. Spending more time in his hollowed head than on this overpopulated planet, he came out only when absolutely necessary.

  Like for work, or when Matt kept pestering him.

  The world inside his head had once been happy, care-free, blossoming with joyous music. Too soon and abruptly, his state of mind twisted into a place that was constantly throbbing with heartache and disappointment, churning with longing and rejection. Brain flipping through so many painful memories, Jamie had to empty it in order to lock himself away in there.

  This hibernation increased the amount of music that teased him, improved the quality of his output.

  He finished his shower and got dressed––plain white T-shirt and black skinny-jeans, the newest items in his limited wardrobe which comprised only the bare essentials. Just as he was about to sink into his tiny single bed, the only piece of furniture in his tiny bedroom in this tiny two-bed flat in Shoreditch, Jamie’s phone rang.

  Matt. Probably to remind him that some plumber was coming to check the boiler. He clenched his fists. The anger was more to do with the time of year than his housemate’s call.

  Christmas.

  It brought with it everything Jamie despised. He was forced to spend one-and-a-half days with his parents––the only people that managed to get under his skin––and work got crowded.

  This winter had been particularly hard. The uncharacteristic and unpredictable shifts in the weather––snowstorms when it was supposed to be dry; thick mist and fog when sleet and hail was predicted––had cast aside the one thing that kept him from slipping over the edge.

  It was dreadfully quiet in his head.

  “Jamie, you’re up, great!” Matt said when Jamie finally answered his phone. “Are you still home? Of course you are––you don’t have work today. Lucky for some… Anyway, someone’s coming to check the boiler, so stay alert.”

  Jamie exhaled. Not only had his flatmate woken him up too early to remind him about that appointment, he’d also knocked on the bathroom door before he left for work to tell him once more. Did Matt really think, after sharing a flat with him for almost half a decade, that Jamie suffered from amnesia?

  “I will.” Jamie hung up as Matt started saying something.

  Jamie’s refusal to interact with others, to reciprocate any social contact, led most people to withdraw from him after a couple of attempts. But not Matt.

  Twenty-seven-years-old and therefore a couple of years older than Jamie, Matt was wiser, smarter, more educated, more successful, and a lot nicer than Jamie. His middle class white background, sociable personality and generous spirit hadn’t managed to warm Jamie towards him though.

  He didn’t see or hear anyone to let them befriend him.

  Matt took great care of his humble little abode; everything was well-furnished and clean, almost resembling chic apartments in Canary Wharf.

  Jamie’s room was clean and tidy too, but then, there wasn’t much to keep in order. All his clothes and shoes were in plastic boxes under his bed, along with his guitar, laptop and mini-keyboard. The rest of his belongings were stowed away in cardboard boxes stacked up against the wall––no room for a wardrobe.

  When the plumber finally arrived, the short, stumpy, balding man attributed his lateness to the tough weather conditions. Babbled about the snow. The shock the whole nation was in as they realised that, after decades of complaining that it never snowed at Christmas, they might just get white Christmases every year from now on thanks to climate change. Apparently, his children were hoping that it would snow tomorrow––Christmas Eve––as it had in the last ten days.

  Jamie groaned, remembering where he’d be tomorrow evening.

  Christmas with… the family.