"Alex Oscar Lidden, why are you hiding up in the house when it's such a beautiful day outside?"

I groan as I roll over. Why did I ever think that giving my mother a key to my apartment was a good idea? Because I started being useless at taking care of myself, I guess.

I'm curled on the sofa under my duvet, curtains drawn to shut out the sun, television on playing the news. I'm not watching it; it is merely background noise for my overworking brain. I'm just staring into the distance, thinking. I do a lot more of that, these days. I don't really understand why, because it hurts so much, but I also have a lot more time to. A lot more to think about. Maybe if I'd stopped to think a little before, I wouldn't be in such a bad place now.

"Get your arse off the couch, and do something good for yourself for once! Stop acting all morose in here, and open the curtains. Go for a walk, get some fresh air, clear your head, and spend some time with people! Lord, it might make you a bit more sociable!"

I grumble back at her, yelping when she pulls the duvet away like she stabbed me. The cold rushes in to meet my bare feet, and my right one cramps, leaving me grimacing.

"Mum! Just stop! I know how to look after myself, and I don't need you barging in here telling me what to do! I moved back here to be independent, not to have you rushing in every few minutes and nosing about my business!"

She just laughs, flinging the curtains wide open and making me cover my face with another groan, burying my head into the sofa arm.

"Get up, get dressed, and get yourself off to one of your friend's houses within the next fifteen minutes or I'm dressing you like a toddler and taking you to their doorstep myself. You need some company, my boy."

I watch her stride from the room, humming softly to herself. I'd really like to reverse these positions right now, and see her reaction if I were to barge into her living room like this. But that would never happen to my mother, because she wouldn't let herself end up like this. Liz Lidden is a go-getter who stops for nothing and no one. I wish I have more of her spirit.

I sit up on the couch cushions too quickly, and lose my balance to topple sideways onto the floor, taking the cushion with me. Illa whines on the other end of the sofa, and sticks her nose over the edge, but doesn't bother to look far enough to check if I'm okay. Typical Illa. If there was an award for the laziest dog in the world, she would win it.

My legs are now aching, and so are my sides, but I'll live. I stand, legs turning to jelly as the blood rushes back into them. Guess who hasn't moved in over a day? But I'm more worried about what will happen if I'm still here in fifteen minutes and my mum gets hold of me. I stumble out of the living room, keeping my hand running along the wall to support my shaky body.

In the bathroom I strip off, taking a quick shower to rid myself of the pervading scents of sweat and dog dribble I had previously been showcasing. Each bit of spray that hits my body, each droplet falling from the shower head to my own; they burn, little pinpricks of acid whose only intent is to make my life miserable. The water is running too hot and then too cold alternately, and I begin to shiver uncontrollably before I've managed to wash off even half the soap. The temperature dial tells me it is fine. My body tells me it is not. I am not okay. My head swims, and it's like I am drowning. My eyes are glued shut, water cascading from my curls like a curtain about my head. I grind my teeth so I do not cry out.

The second the last soap sud hits the slippery floor of the bath I flick the shower back off and stand, dripping for a few seconds while I regain my composure. My hands are shaking violently, and I press them to my thighs in an attempt to still them. All I succeed in doing is destabilising more of me, so that I am forced to lean back onto the tiles. The wall is cool against my back, the condensation that has formed on it in sharp contrast to my clammy skin. I press my hands against it, tracing circles with my fingers

My breathing gradually steadies, and I'm able to stand up unaided. I climb unsteadily out the bath and wrap a towel around my waist, then open the bathroom door to grab some clothes from the hall cupboard. I moved everything I might need from my bedroom out here when I first moved back here. There's no way I can face going in there all the time yet.

Back in the bathroom, I half-heartedly dry myself before throwing on a shirt. I've missed some patches of wet, and the shirt darkens in those spots, clinging to me like a second skin. My hair hangs in a tangled mess, dripping down my back and soaking the entire collar and upper back of the shirt cloth. I struggle into a pair of skinny jeans, stumbling sideways into the bath edge as I do so.

Leaving the towel to dry on the bathroom door, I rush down the hallway and grab myself a pair of boots, then settle on the sofa to tug them on. The leather is unyielding, as I've not had the pair long, so I have to fairly wrench my feet into them. Finally they're on, and I have five minutes left. I haven't eaten yet. I need to eat before I leave. I spring forwards too abruptly at this thought, nearly knocking the rose off of the coffee table beside me. I catch it just in time, hands shaking. My breath mists the glass so I can't see my face. If it had dropped, I don't know what I would have done.

"Alex! Get yourself out of this house or you're getting in my car! I wasn't messing around earlier."

I give the rose one last glance, still breathing a little erratically. What if something happens while I'm out? I shake my head to rid myself of the thought. It's a rose for pete's sake! It can't move by itself, you're being irrational. I drop into the kitchen on my way to the front door and grab a fresh loaf from the bread bin.

Mum is sat on the floor in front of the fridge loading fresh groceries onto the previously empty shelves. She looks up at my hurried entering of the kitchen, and watches me with raised eyebrows, a half smile on her lips.

"Raiding my rescue supplies already, I see. And I suppose that's meant to be your breakfast?" She can barely keep the sarcasm out of her voice, and I don't blame her. What a sight I must be. At least it's tinged with affection.

"It is," I say, leaving the kitchen as quickly as I can. I hear her get up to follow me and try to walk faster. I grab my keys from the little basket by the front door, and a random jacket off of the pegs above. I pause at the three empty pegs next to my own. One lone jacket of her's remains. The cream one; her favourite. I stroke a hand down its soft velvet, breathing in and out once, before dropping my arm.

"Alex, take some fruit with you too."

I turn to find my mum stood with two hands outstretched, an apple and a banana in each of her hands.

"Pick one," she says, wiggling the fruit about as though that will help me make my decision. "As your mother I should really make you stop and eat something substantial, but something tells me that isn't going to work. So just take some fruit and be on your way."

"I'm fine, mum. I've already got some food."

She raises an eyebrow, head cocked to one side. "Mhm. And you're going to have such a substantial breakfast, taking a whole loaf of bread with you to eat by itself. Not to mention it's really lunch time." But she drops her hands, obviously giving up on the idea of getting me to take the fruit.

I pull the door open, and am about to step through when mum lets out a sigh behind me. Light streams through the open doorway, making me squint my eyes. I hate this already. I want to go back into the living room and curl up on the sofa, away from the outside world. It takes all of my energy just to keep myself standing there.

"I love you, Alex. You're going to be alright." She takes my hand and presses a kiss to my fingers, holding it there for a second longer than necessary. "Now get out to your friend's. It'll do you some good." She pauses, flicking a finger at the loaf of bread in my hand. I feel it rather than see it, as I have not turned around. I am still focused on adjusting to the light out here. I'm not even sure if I will.

"What would you ever do without me?" She chuckles softly to herself.

I don't know. I want to tell her. I don't know what I'd do without you. I love you too. But I leave my mouth firmly shut.

It's not until I actually get out of the door that I realise I forgot to bring my phone to text Addie ahead of my arrival. I got too distracted. I've got to stop doing that.

The door shuts behind me, and I take a deep breath as the pure gravity of the situation hits. Suddenly, I remember why I was curled up in the dark. Daylight stings when your mind's in darkness. And the sun is shining so brightly today. I can't stop squinting, it's so bright. The world around me is difficult to see, and I have to fight the rising panic in my chest.

Sometimes, being outside is all I want. Other times, it's the very last thing. I wake not knowing if it's going to be a sunshine day or a darkness day.

On good days— sunshine days— I'll get up and get dressed. Make some breakfast. Maybe go to the café for it, or for a coffee. Meet a friend there. Look for a job.

On bad days, I stay half-dressed until it's a good day again. I stay in bed or on the couch all day, not moving. Addie would come down, and he'd just know. He'd try to cheer me up, put on a movie, but not force me into anything, knowing I'll come round in my own time. But now I'm home again, and I have to brave it alone.

On these days my thoughts constantly aggravate me, and I can't deal with it. So I just go back inside my brain, back into my shell. I shut out the world and I pretend that I don't have to deal with it. In reality I know I have to and that it's just going to get worse. It's like shoving a ball under the surface of the swimming pool— it will resurface with power before too long. But shutting down allows me a little time to focus all my energy on surviving my overthinking, Lord of the Flies mind. Kill or be killed. It allows me to redirect the energy I would have used for physical activities, and survive my inner battles.

It has a price, of course, draining my energy as a whole and leaving me exhausted without the self-care I need. But I can think of worse things to be than exhausted.

Everyone has their ups and downs. That's what they say. Me? I'm in the rut. For good. My down is permanent.

I reach a street corner I don't recognise and realise I've gone the wrong way. I was so caught up in my thoughts, so dazed out here in the open— so vulnerable— that I ended up just walking, and ending up God knows where. But then I realise I just turned the wrong way out of my gate. I'll go the long way around the block to Addie's house; the perks of living so close to your friends. I dig my hand into the bag of bread, taking a bite from the first slice. I didn't register just how famished I am until now.

I walk briskly, the feeling returning to my legs as I slip back into my old gait, even if the energy I used to carry doesn't come back. I keep my eyes trained on the pavement, relying on only pure chance so that I don't run into anybody. The concrete is cracked in spider webs, spinning out in irregular directions and spiralling off of one another to create a latticework of streets between the stones. These sit embedded, rising tall from the dirt ground below like castles above the lowlands. Ants run across the entire pavement, climbing up the sides of the stones and down the cracks. I do my best not to step on them. They're just going about their day like I am, and to the best of my ability I'd like to not murder even the smallest of creatures. Life's hard enough without giants stepping from the sky to snuff out your life.

I find myself almost dancing across the pavement in my attempt not to step on a single one, and I quickly feel myself tiring. Twenty minutes later, I'm standing at the bottom of Addie's garden path, hair still messy, and half a loaf of bread in one hand. He opens the door, grinning when he sees me.

"Your mum called. Said you'd probably be heading this way. I've got beer and popcorn, mate, and a comfy sofa with lots of cushions, though I'm sure you know that by now." He grins wider, if it's possible.

I half smile back, so grateful for him. Always so grateful for him.

Addie by far has been the most helpful person to me. Always there for me, just being a normal mate, even when we were living together in what was definitely not normal circumstances. We play games on the Xbox, have a mess about. He keeps me up to date on the stupid stuff, like showing me photos of cute dogs he's met on his walks that he thinks Illa might like, or how many pizzas Tommy's consumed that week, or how many girls Isaaz's picked up recently. The everyday friend stuff I miss with everyone else. Like we were just housemates by choice, rather than because I had a breakdown. Rather than because I can't cope on my own.

At the same time, if I want to talk— or not talk, but just be hugged, or cry— he's good with that too. It's never awkward, with Addie. Just nice and homely and normal. I love that.

"Nice loaf of bread." He indicates the clear packaging gripped tightly in my hand, chuckling, and I laugh, swapping which hand it's in to allow the other to cool down. I was gripping it so tightly that my hand has gone sweaty, some of it still on the plastic. Disgusting.

Addie's house, this place; it's home. I've spent so long here it's upstaged my own house, which is now just that; an empty shell of a house with sad memories waiting around dark corners, just waiting to make me break. Stepping back in here is like a breath of fresh air. It's so cool and calm. So different to my own house, where it's dimly lit and stuffy. It used to be full of colour and light, but Bailey took all of that with her.

I feel my stomach blanch at the fact that I just thought about her name so easily. The muscle in my arm contracts and I become still, frozen in place by the coffee table in the living room. My grip on the loaf of bread loosens, and it drops to the floor. I'm beside the sofa, but I don't sit down. I can't. I can't even move my eyes from their fixation on the carpet.

"Mate, I—" Addie stops in the doorway, a packet of popcorn clutched in his hand, the other balancing two glasses, eyes on my, my eyes still focused on the floor. But not really. My mind is elsewhere, and it took all of my senses with it.

A bright day, the sun shining, just like today. Bailey, outside, sat on the grass, stringing together a daisy chain and softly humming a tune to herself. I can hear it going round and round my head like a marching band, but cannot place it.

"Bailey! Come over here!" She shakes her head, still humming to herself and her eyes intent on her work, hair spilling down her back like a soft waterfall. It looks almost white in the bright sunlight.

"Bails! Come on!"

She shakes her head again, laughing, and I stand up from my chair just inside the doorway, sheltering my eyes against the sun. The stanza I'd been trying to write sits unfinished on the table, pen abandoned beside it.

"Bailey! I just want your help with a few details!"

She looks up at this, eyes shining with electric light. "All I'm thinking about is daises! You don't want that in your poem."

"What do daisies make you think of?" I say, settling beside her. I pluck a daisy from the ground and place it in her hand. She smiles in thanks, adding it to the end of the already long chain while I pick another.

"Prettiness. And summer days and sunshine. And love." She takes another from me, still smiling.

Always smiling. It makes her cheekbones arch prettily, and her eyes light up. It makes my insides want to light up too, butterflies fluttering against the insides of my chest as though to escape their cage out into the sunlight. But now the light is drowning in the shadows of my knowledge.

"Love?"

"Love. No one gives daisies any attention, because they think they're not pretty, but I think they're one of the prettiest flowers. After the rose, of course. The oldest traditions die hard."

I nod slowly, eyes on the viridescent grass and her face in my head, until she clears her throat, and I quickly pick another daisy. I put it into her hand just as she laughs.

"Dopey dingbat. You were miles away!"

"No, I was thinking about you. I was closer than you could ever imagine." She blushes, and I smile. She's so cute when she's embarrassed. Her cheeks flush rosen and she gets this small, shy smile on her face she rarely wears at other times.

"Put that down and give me some attention. Am I your slave daisy-picker or your boyfriend?"

She pauses, pretending to think for a moment, before dropping the daisy in the grass and shifting over onto my lap, where I wrap my arms around her, breathing in her scent and stroking her hair.

"You're so beautiful, Bailey."

She blushes harder, the rosen flush on her cheeks deepening, and she pulls closer to bury her head in my shoulder, maybe an attempt to hide her reddened cheeks. I smile softly, so grateful for her and her love. How did I get so lucky?

"Alex, mate."

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and snap back to reality. I try to shake it off, but I'm not strong enough, and suddenly tears are pouring down my cheeks. I'm so fragile right now, that one touch from a fingertip coule shatter me into a million pieces. I always thought that I was the strong one and she was the delicate one. But I was so wrong. She was always the strong one.

Addie guides me down to the sofa behind me, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders and speaking quietly, "It's okay to cry sometimes, mate. Just let it go."

And I do. I lean into him, just as Bailey did to me that sunny day, and I let the tears fall freely. I sob, and I sob. Each one seems to wrack my entire body. My shoulders shake, and my eyes are raw. My mind feels so full of emotion and yet so stripped clean that I'm exhausted. And yet I carry on crying. I can't stop.

I don't think I'll ever stop crying over her.