I waved Billie goodbye on the bus, holding onto my smile until the sound of the engine disappeared around the corner, clouds of dust settling in its wake.

I stood still for a few seconds, my hand raised, greeting a phantom. She was gone, but I was still with her. Her lips were brushing against mine again as she said goodbye, tearing herself away with reluctance. She was twisting back to look over her shoulder, her hair hanging down in wild ringlets, her hand on the pole as she swung into her seat. I could see her bare neck again as the bus pulled away, her eyes flashing into mine one last time.

Now there was nothing, just silence and space. I marvelled at how much twenty-four hours could change. Who am I now? There was a part of me driving away on that bus, it had happened so soon. So suddenly. Crept in. Taken my unaware. When did it happen? When we lay in bed together? When we sat by the fire? When she slipped her hand into mine on the walk to the bus stop? I had been in control, measured, careful – until I wasn't. She had swept me away in her calm waters, and I wasn't trying to fight.

I turned towards home, deep in my own mind as my body carried me down the familiar route without my instruction. I was trying to make sense of it. Trying to put the pieces together. But all I could come up with was her hair, her skin, her smell, the feel of her head on my chest, her laughter, the look she gave me when I said something she didn't like, her body under me, her legs wrapped up in mine, the croak in her voice when she first woke up, her fingernails tapping on the garden chair, her eyes gazing over the lawn. There was no meaning. No 'aha!' moment when it had begun. It just was.

The calmest flood...What was I doing before her? What was I doing before I understood what it meant to take life in your hands and squeezed out all its juices?

As I replayed the hours with her in my mind, I found myself stopping, my footsteps halted by the memory of a certain touch, or the laughter of a joke we made. It took me twice as long to get home than usual, the way forward obscured by her, an invisible rope pulling me back, tied to me, tied to her.

It scared me in more ways than I could describe. And I liked it.

When I reached the front door, I slipped inside without a noise, shutting it behind me with care. I leant against the wood, taking a second to feel the hard surface against my back. I breathed in and out, in and out. I was floating, my feet miles from the ground. But I was gripped with some underlying fear. Some anxious niggle. I didn't want to see it. Didn't want to give it life. I kept my eyes to the sky, letting my heart race faster, letting the blood rush through me.

I sensed, rather than saw, Gracie join me in the hallway. I could feel her watching me, could hear her folding her arms, her concern resonating at me from across the room.

Down you go.

"Don't," I said, stopping her words before they left her mouth. She chewed her lip, trying to contain them.

"Joe..."

"I know."

My voice was curt. Dismissive. Why did she have to do this? Why not just let me have a moment, a few precious minutes away from reality? Away from the cliff edge.

"A week early..."

I winced. The weight of this truth-filled the hallway, pressing me harder into the door, stealing my air.

Gracie looked at me, the pity and pain and fear in her eyes unbearable.

"Stop," I said, walking towards her. I put a hand on her shoulder, staring down at her with reassurance. Me, the big little brother, her, the little big adult. She shook her head, the movement so slight I almost missed it.

"You know what this means, don't you? You do know? They never come home early."

"I know what it means."

Silence. I bowed my head. Gracie rested her head on my arm, looking up at the paintings.

"You better enjoy it, little brother."

With a sad look on her face, she ducked underneath my arms and ran up the stairs, leaving me in freefall.

I watched her go and promised her in silence that I would try.