Waking up to an empty bed. That awful moment that steals your resolve and renders you useless. For a moment, I struggle to process it, my breath hitching in my chest. Bailey was here. She was here; I fell asleep next to her. With my arms wrapped around her. But where is she now?

Gone, that's where. And probably never there in the first place. I've finally lost it.

I turn over in bed, automatically reaching a hand for her pillow, only to remember that it's not there. It is still sitting with her coat in the hallway, muddy and torn. By me. My fault. Everything's my fault.

I squeeze my eyes tight-shut again, wanting to block out the world, myself included. Apparently that's not how it works, because I can still hear myself thinking; tearing myself down.

"Alex."

And there she is. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy- she's right there, standing in the doorway. A mug of coffee steams in her left hand, and a smile sits on her face. The most natural and beautiful thing in the world. Relief floods my being.

"Morning, Alex. How are you today?"

She doesn't give me a chance to respond as she steps forward, putting the mug into my hands and turning the rose in its glass so that its head faces me.

"No more tears for me, I hope, because they just won't do. I want to see that smile of yours. Give me a smile." She looks at me expectantly, head tipped slightly to the side.

I manage a grimace, at best, but all the same her eyes grow brighter and she snuggles down by my side, obviously pleased with this result. At least one of us is.

"Do we have any plans for today?"

I shake my head, adjusting my position so that my arm is able to move more freely and I can lift the mug to my lips. The drink scalds my lips.

"Know what I'd like to do, Luke?"

I shake my head once more, daring to take my first sip of coffee. I can feel it on its journey all the way down my oesophagus, leaving a trail of burning nerve ends in its wake. Definitely still too hot. But refreshing.

"I'd like to take a look through my old camera."

I nearly spit my second mouthful across the bed sheets.

"Why do you want to do that?"

"Because it's time to remember the past, so that we can move on. And then we can make the future, starting with some new photos together."

I can see the sense in her words, which is probably why I agree. And so, five minutes later, we are sat on the sofa. Bailey is on my lap, a blanket tucked about us both, keeping her bare legs and my bare chest warm. I'm in my pyjama bottoms, and she's wearing my t-shirt again: the one from the box. I hold the camera in my hands, listening to the sounds of it coming alive.

My insides twist at the thought of all the memories I'm about to disturb. Bailey's warmth fills my body, comforting me a little. If I can sit here with her, when she is basically a walking-talking memory stirrer, I can look through her old camera. I need to stop being a wuss.

"Where do you want to start, then?"

The question surprises me. She was the one that wanted to do this, not me.

"From the start, I guess."

"I thought you might say that," she smiles, taking the camera from me.

Cryptic words with a thousand possible meanings. My urge to dig deeper to them is strong, but my growing apprehension and excitement of what we're about to do overpowers that need.

Bailey tilts the camera towards me, eyes sparkling. "First one! Do you remember this day?"

Do I remember it? Is that even a question?

"Of course I do!"

Our second 'date', not that long after we first met one another in the library. Date being inverted, as at the time we were really only friends. But it felt like the start of something.

We met up with each other at a little coffee shop down the road, the sun so bright overhead it warranted sunglasses all around. I had left the house wearing one of my leather jackets. But by the time I reached the place I was baking hot, so I slid it off. Bailey walked up, and greeted me, eyes on the jacket. We'd barely finished with niceties before she asked if she could wear it, and I, after only a slight hesitation, agreed.

We took the photo outside the shop afterwards, stopping a passer by to shoot it for us. Bailey had my jacket around her shoulders, clutching the zip-lines together at her chest and her sunglasses perched on her head. I'd stood awkwardly at first, but relaxed as her smile turned on me, slinging an arm around her shoulders at the last moment. We were both grinning wildly.

"That was such a good day! And that coffee shop remains my favourite one to this day. A good recommendation, Luke."

I nod in agreement, eyes already back on the camera and drinking in the new sight she has flicked up. One of the next times we saw each other, after the last photo spot. I'd taken her up to what would become our field to photograph some wildlife. Bailey decided she needed to teach me how to use her camera properly. This part of the SD card is scattered with her photographs of the nature around us, and my blurry attempts at a focused picture.

We took another photo, setting the camera up with a timer on top of one of our rucksacks and hurrying to position. In the very last second she placed a kiss on my cheek, leaving me blushing profusely. Thankfully the photo doesn't capture the aftermath when I had a minor freak out about it, grabbing my bag and preparing to take off back to the city.

Somehow, she managed to calm me down and make it all seem okay. Just like she always has. Just like now, with her hand resting on my arm to steady me. I've always been one to overreact to even the smallest things.

She flicks through more images, leaving me with just snapshots of the first few months of our relationship becoming official. And then she stops at another; me, her and Illa, on the first day I got her. Illa has turned to lick Bailey's face while still pressed up to my chest and wrapped in my arms. Mine and Bailey's legs are touching. I'm not exactly sure who is behind the camera, but I suspect my mother.

"Little Illa! She was so small back then. Now she's a great big lump!"

I laugh at Bailey's description of her now. "I definitely agree. When she sits on my chest at night sometimes..."

And then I stop short, because Bailey of course hasn't seen that. Illa only started doing that once Bailey was gone, seeking comfort during the night, or maybe understanding my need for her to be there; to not be alone.

She seems to sense the void that's suddenly opened between us, silently turning off the camera and setting it down on the coffee table.

"Are you going to tell anyone about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Alex."

I shake my head obstinately, refusing to accept what she's saying. "Nope. I'm nope-ing that."

"Alex," she pauses to sigh heavily. "We both know that this is only temporary. And we both know just what Addie, or your mum, might say, if they were to find out."

"Well they won't. You being here can be our little secret. I'm not even talking to them at the moment." I choose to leave out exactly how many times Addie has called me.

"Plus, if I told them I'd have to share you with them, and I want you to myself."

"You'd have that even if you told them, Luke."

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing back into the sofa. "They'd make you go away, if they knew. I'm not letting go of you again."

"But you need to, Luke. To get better. You've got to let this go and learn to live without me."

"Then why are you here?"

No response. I snap open my eyes, lap feeling ostensibly empty. And the sight that beholds me confirms that feeling.

Gone. Again.

"Bailey? Bailey!" I scramble to sit on my knees, wildly searching the room for a sign of her small form, sandy hair, lazuli eyes. Nothing.

Desolation, in my gut. She's left me behind again.

"Bailey, please!"

"Promise me you'll tell someone about me being back!"

I snap my head around in the direction of her voice. She is standing on the other side of the window, staring straight at me with a ferocity in her eyes I have only seen a few times before. I hurtle to my feet, taking two rickety steps towards her, but stopping a couple of feet from the window.

"Why?"

"Just promise me! Or I'll go again."

"I promise!"

Her eyes soften, and she reaches a little hand through the open window. I close the distance to the glass, nearly tripping over in my rush to be closer to her. I grip her hand in mine. My skin feels rough against her smooth palm. She reaches her other hand through the window, standing on her tiptoes to reach far enough. I grasp it with mine, entwining our fingers.

"I love you, Alex," she presses her forehead up against the glass, face downcast and eyes shut, though her eyelids flutter delicately every few seconds.

I press my own forehead against my side of the glass, gripping her hands a little tighter as I do so. My breath mists the glass.

"I love you too, Bails."

Divided by glass; invisible, but effective. We cannot truly touch our foreheads right now. But I can feel her warmth through the window sheet, and it is comforting. Her hands in mine feel right.

But if this is so right, then why is Bailey so insistent on me telling someone she's back? Her insistence makes it seem so wrong. But I know it's so right. And I don't know whose judgement to trust anymore.