by Louisa Line
Going to bed still holding the note I know that sleep won’t come easily. Ever since getting the note I have felt an ache in-between my legs and there is only one thing that is going to help me and only one voice I am going to have in my head as Mr Darcy does his job.
Friday 19th May
I’ve had a great week and even my therapist says I’m sounding better. I don’t know what has changed, but I am definitely feeling more positive about my condition. I still can’t get past the door, but I have found general day to day life a little bit easier. I have to admit I have been sleeping a lot better as well, thanks to the mystery delivery man’s voice and Mr Darcy.
As I am busy cleaning the kitchen ready for my delivery, my phone starts to ring in the living room. I know who it will be so I don’t rush. Claire has been calling daily since my panic attack last week and no matter how much I try to convince her that I am doing OK, she still won’t stop the daily call.
Making my way into the living room I pick up the phone.
“Hi Claire,” I answer cheerfully.
“How did you know it was me?” She sounds surprised but I really don’t know why.
“It may have something to do with you calling me pretty much every day. You know you can always text.” I know she won’t though as she has always said that texting is far too impersonal and you never know how the person is really feeling. I sometimes wish she would text though.
“Claire, I’m fine, honest. I’m back to my old stuck-at-home self.” I add, reassuringly.
“Jess, I’m going to get some time off and come and see you,” she replies excitedly
“Claire, really…” I’m trying to bury the excitement in my voice as I worry I’m getting to be a burden on her.
“Just let me do this, Jess. I’ll speak to my boss and see what I can do.” She sounds hopeful.
“OK, if you’re sure but do it for yourself, you work so hard.” I’m buzzing inside but try to sounds calm and collected. I hope it works.
“To be honest, I could do with the break. Things didn’t go so well with Danny.” Claire’s mood seems to turn sour and I begin to get worried.
“What happened? I thought things were going so well. Why didn’t you tell me?” I say a little irritated that she is only telling me now. I hate it when she doesn’t think she can share things with me.
“I didn’t want to add to your stress.” I can hear the pain in Claire’s voice as she speaks and my heart breaks for her. Why can’t I be a better friend and just go and visit her. It’s not as if I have a job with set hours or anything. I know Claire is hurting and I feel helpless. She has always been there for me and I feel like I am failing her as a friend.
“Danny was great for the first few days, but on Wednesday he started asking for money. He said he had left his wallet at home when we were out at a restaurant and needed some cash. I found out last night he had been arrested after the police raided his place for drugs. How do I always manage to pick them, Jess?”
I don’t have an answer for her. Claire has always been hopeless with relationships. That’s what comes of always chasing after the classic bad boys.
“Oh Claire, I’m hugging you through the phone right now. You know that, don’t you?”
“I love you, Jess.” I can hear the tears in her voice and can’t hide mine either as I reply, through the sobs, that I love her too.
We hang up and I am a mess of confusion and worry. It would be great to see Claire. She is the only person I can allow into the flat without having a full on meltdown. I know she will find a way to come down but that just makes me feel even guiltier.
With my good mood gone for the day, I go to my usual spot. Sitting down and staring out the window, my view is slightly blurred by the tears I can’t stop from falling. I can’t even tell you why they are falling. It could have been guilt or it could have been through my longing to see Claire. To be honest, I often had days like this where I would just cry over anything even if I had been in a good mood before it.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sat here sobbing quietly to myself, but my attention is suddenly taken up by the delivery van that had just parked up outside the flats. I completely forgot that today is delivery day. I had made sure to stick with Fridays even after last week since I know it is one of the quietest days in the flats as nearly everyone was out or working.
I have to admit my curiosity has been piqued, especially as a tall figure emerges from the van. My view is slightly ruined by the fact I am several floors up, but what I can see I like. A lot! I can tell he’s tall and from the glimpse of the upper arm I can see he obviously works out. I watch as he makes his way to the outside door and wait for the intercom to sound. My heart rate picks up but once again not through the fear I normally feel, but something completely different, good-different but different. I don’t realise I’ve been holding my breath until it comes rushing out at the sound of the intercom. I walk over to it on shaky legs and feel a tingle at the thought of hearing that voice once more.
“Hello?” I try to sound as calm and in control as I can.
“Miss Wentworth I have…”
“Call me Jessica, please. Miss Wentworth makes me sound so old.” I really don’t know where this renewed confidence has come from. Normally I wanted to get away from the intercom and back to the safety of my little flat as quickly as I could, but today I feel like I could stay here talking to this guy forever.
“OK Jessica, I have your delivery for you. Would you like me to bring it up as I did on Saturday?”
It takes me a while to answer as my brain is too busy replaying every word he has ever said to me. I could listen to that voice forever and never get enough.
“Oh yes, thank you,” I finally say as I buzz him in, but unlike every other time before, I don’t move away from the door. I find myself wanting to take just a small peek through the peep hole to see exactly what my mysterious voice looks like. Moving slowly towards the door I can hear him outside placing the boxes on the other side. Longing to make the last few steps and see what he looks like, my feet just won’t move as the anxiety takes over and leaves me glued to the spot. I listen, frozen, as the items are left and then wait until I hear the familiar sound of the elevator so I know that he has gone. I open the door and begin to gather the shopping in as quickly as I can. Once I have it all inside I sign the machine and leave it outside my door, ready to be collected. I race over to the window to see if I can get another glimpse of my mysterious delivery driver. All I manage to see, though, is a view of his back as the intercom buzzes once more. I move over to it and press the button.
“All done?” comes the now familiar voice that has started speaking to me in my dreams and has been an active part of my fantasies.
“Yes, thank you. Oh, and thank you for the note last week. It was really sweet.” Sweet? Really? I know I am out of touch with talking to people, but even I know you don’t tell a man something he has done is sweet. I hear a throat clearing from the other end before he speaks again.
“It was nothing. I just felt bad that I had caused you so much stress. Umm… Is the machine ready?”
Nothing? If only he knew how far from nothing it really was!
“Yes, thank you.” I know it won’t take him long to collect the machine and be on his way so I rush over to the window in the hope that I might catch a little more of the man I’ve just been speaking to. It is such a surprise when the letter box rattles and another slip of paper floats down to the floor. Rushing over to the door I grab the piece of paper, wondering what could possibly have been written on it this time. I turn it over in my hand before I unfold it as if it was a rare manuscript, unable to be opened unless wearing gloves.
I never thought you were old, Miss Wentworth.
Your voice is like a beautiful song I can’t get out my head.
Steve
I am sure I must have read the note wrong. So I read it over and over again. It isn’t until around the fourth or fifth read-through that I
remember what I had been doing before the note arrived. I rush over to the window, but once again only see the van drive away.
Watching until the van is out of sight I try to busy myself for the rest of the day. I even tidy up the lounge which must mean something. It doesn’t take my mind off my mysterious delivery man though and, as I go to bed, I find myself imagining his bulging biceps and broad shoulders pinning me down to my bed as my fingers go to work between my legs, screaming out Steve’s name far too quickly. After showering, I lay in bed, wondering if I will ever get to see or feel the real thing.
Saturday 20th May
I wake up feeling slightly unsettled. This is usually a sign that it’s going to be a bad day.
Going into the kitchen to make my morning coffee, I realise I was so distracted yesterday that I have left the bag of frozen food sat in the middle of the floor for the entire evening and it has now defrosting in a watery mess. I kick it in frustration and using my entire vocabulary of swear words burst into tears. How stupid can I be! After stomping around the kitchen in a foul mood. I clean up the soggy mess and finally get a coffee to try and calm my annoyance at myself. This is so typically me! The wreck that forgets things and then has a meltdown because of it.
Still frustrated and angry with myself I start to wonder what I should do next. I think about Steve, my delivery driver, and his note that was now safely tucked away with the first one in my bedside table drawer. Going over to my laptop I log into the app which I use to order my shopping. Scanning through the delivery times available, I’m disappointed to see that the first available slot isn’t until Monday. That’s 2 days away! I guess that means tonight I will have to attempt to order a takeout, which is a lot harder than you would think for someone like me. Either that or I have a salad with the ingredients that I have in the fridge.
Frustrated, I make myself another coffee and end up spilling it all over the laptop while I am trying to work. I was lucky enough to keep my job, as most of it I can do from home. I am an accountant for a small, local company, so most of my work I can do via emails or over the phone. But I know my boss will not be impressed when I tell him I’d killed the laptop, so I put off the call for as long as I can in the hope that when it dries it might actually work. I’m not that lucky though, and after being reprimanded and warned that if anything like this happened again it would be coming out of my wages, I am feeling even lower.
It’s now early evening and I have managed to get myself in a flunk. I call them flunks when I find myself so low that I have no interest or desire to do anything. I can’t even be bothered to make a salad and the mood I’m in, there is no way I am going to order anything in, so I have an early night just wanting to sleep my mood away.
When I wake up it’s late evening. Things haven’t improved much and I have cocooned myself in my bed refusing to surface. I contemplate not answering the call from Claire, but know that she will only keep ringing if I don’t answer. She is like a dog with a bone and would have just kept ringing and failing that, probably called the police to come check on me. When I answer I tell her I am having a duvet day and that I will call her tomorrow. She isn’t very happy about it, but accepts I need some down time and gives in.
I wrap myself back up in my blankets and drift off to sleep. I wouldn’t call it restful though. I’m plagued with nightmares. Invisible barriers holding me back from faceless figures calling out to me. I try to break through the barriers in any way I can, but I’m always met with new obstacles and the faceless figures move further and further away.
Monday 22nd May
I’m still in a flunk Monday morning after spending Sunday either stomping around the flat or in bed. I know once I get myself like this it can take forever to get out of it. Oh, the joys of having depression on top of everything else. Lying in bed I listen to the rain on my window. I start hysterically laughing at the rain and how it reflects my dark mood. This just makes curling up into the warm safe cocoon of my bed even more appealing and I’m sleeping so little at night with these new nightmares that I now grab sleep whenever I can. I guess it will be just another issue to bring up with the therapist when they call later on in the week.
At lunchtime, I know I am going to have to emerge from my shell. For one thing, I am desperate for a pee, and two, I really should have something to eat as I can’t actually remember the last time I ate.
Finishing up in the bathroom, I make my way over to the kitchen to investigate what I have. Walking through the door I’m hit with a flashback of what sent me over the edge in the first place and I find myself crumpling to the floor in tears once more. I know it’s stupid, but with depression you never really know what’s going to trigger an episode and for me, I guess forgetting to put the food away triggered mine.
Time passes and I’m not sure how long I’ve been sat on the floor for. The tears stopped a while ago, but I know I am cold and my legs have gone to sleep. I’m convinced I would still have been there if it hadn’t have been for the intercom. I think about ignoring it, but from how insistent the buzzer is I know that’s not going to be an option.
I slowly peel myself off the kitchen floor and after several failed attempts to stand, manage to get the strength back in my legs. The buzzer continues and my head is now beginning to pound, whether through the noise, or the fact I have been crying for I-don’t-know-how-long. I make a mental note to get some painkillers once I’ve dealt with whoever this is.
“Yes,” I all but scream down the intercom.
“Miss… Jessica. It’s Steve. Is everything OK? I have your delivery.” I don’t think I have ever been so relieved to hear a cheerful voice and this just makes me want to cry all over again. I don’t realise I’m still holding the phone until I hear Steve speak once more.
“Jessica?” Is that a hint of concern I hear in his voice?
“Sorry,” I sob. “It’s just so great to hear your voice.” I don’t know why but just hearing his voice has already started to calm me in a way that nothing else in over a year has managed to do. It’s crazy but talking to him just feels right.
“Really, I know our food is good, but I didn’t think it was that good.” I can hear the smile in his voice, mixed in with a hint of something else. Worry? No, it can’t be! This guy doesn’t even know me, and other than Claire, I haven’t had anyone worry about me in an extremely long time, not since my parents passed anyway. I find myself letting out a laugh.
“Thank you. You don’t know how much I needed that today,” I say, smiling in relief.
“It’s all part of the service, Miss Wentworth,” I imagine him rolling his arm and taking a bow as they would have done in the olden days and, if it’s possible, my smile gets even bigger.
“Jessica, please call me Jessica. Miss Wentworth will always be my grandmother,” I plead shaking my head as I try to remove the picture of a 90 year old me.
“Jessica it is then! So how about this delivery, you’re a little early this week aren’t you?”
“I had a bit of an accident on Friday,” I find myself blushing as I remember what caused me to forget the shopping.
“Accident? You’re OK though?” Again, I can hear a hint of what I think is worry, but shake it off feeling silly the moment it enters my head. He’s just doing his job.
“Yeah, I was a little distracted on Friday and forgot to put the frozen food away.”
“Well, let’s hope you have no distractions today! Shall I bring it up?”
I really don’t want our conversation to end, but can’t find anything else to talk about so I buzz him in. But this time, rather than moving away from the door, I find myself moving closer. I hear the elevator door open and can sense, rather than hear him, approach the door. Next I hear the boxes being placed onto the floor. Before I know what I’m doing I find myself looking through the peep hole, but am left disappointed when all I see is a back retreating down the hall and into the waiting elevator. What a back it is though! The T-shirt he wears shows off the muscles in his arms
which I saw through my window a few days earlier. He has dark hair, cut short, but what I really focus on as he retreats is the lower half of his body and I am so not disappointed. His bum is perfectly formed and I wonder if it would be as firm as it looks if I was able to give it a small squeeze. Once he has gone I feel the now familiar ache between my legs and wonder how a man I had never properly seen could have this type of effect on me.
Suddenly, remembering the shopping, I quickly open the door and try to ignore these feelings coursing through my body. It doesn’t work so I promise myself that Mr Darcy can come out later as I bring the shopping into the house and go to sign the machine. Pausing, I look at the machine as a thought suddenly comes to mind. Rushing around the flat in search of a piece of paper, I make a mental note to start to keep the place a little tidier. Once I have the paper I start to second guess myself and question if this is what I really want to do. Then remembering what my therapist said about challenging myself I scribble the note, sign the machine and place it all outside the door with the empty boxes.
The intercom buzzes and for about the hundredth time I question if I’ve done the right thing.
“All done?” comes the sexy voice through the intercom. I pause before answering only for a moment before I pull my figurative big girl pants up and reply.
“Yes, thank you.” I want to say so much more. I want to ask him so many questions, ask him to stay and talk to me some more, but I don’t. I simply move away from the door and worry about what I have just done. I want to move to the door and see what his reaction is through the peep hole, but I also don’t want to know and find myself anxious, but for a whole different reason. I hear the elevator doors open down the hall and wait. I hear a shuffling outside the door before I hear heavy footsteps moving away. Had I read the signs all wrong? I mean he was the one that had started sending me notes. I rush over to the window and once again catch the sight of his back getting into the van before it drives off down the road, but not before I’ve caught another sight of that amazing backside. I watch again till it moves out of sight and then realise there is only one thing to do in a situation like this and as much as I really want him right now, it’s not Mr Darcy.