Who We Were | Book One

36. Best Intentions

The room gave away more than he meant it to.

The dark grey walls were lined with posters displaying various game and film references, all cracked and rolling with age at the edges but still recognisable. It was clear the room was furnished on a small budget, but it was full of more warmth than I'd seen in a long time.

Ben strode with a hefty sigh across the room and flung himself down across the double bed. I hesitated in the doorway before following him inside and closing the door behind me.

From the bedside table smiled a photograph of Ben and an older woman. Her arms were draped loosely around his neck as she smiled over his shoulder into the camera. I picked up the black frame and looked at the two people grinning back at me, Ben hadn't changed much. The woman had dark brown hair, the same colour as his, that was curly and stopped just below her chin. She had a petite nose and it was only emphasised by the freckles that were dotted sporadically across it. Though, it was her eyes, the flecks of caramel that wove deep around her irises that were reminiscent of Ben's. He sat up on the bed and swung his legs around as he noticed the frame in my hands.

"That's my mum," he pointed out as he looked to the photo, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It was the month before everything happened."

"She's pretty," I said as I set the frame down on the table. "You've got her eyes." His mouth twitched. "What was her name?" I asked.

"Jackie."

I could only give him a small, reassuring smile in response. I had no words to say to him. No words that could offer any consolations for what had happened to his mother. I knew the feeling of losing a parent twice over but I couldn't comprehend the guilt of it happening by my own hand.

I could hear his breathing as he lay back against the bed, his eyes wandering the distorted patterns that covered the ceiling. I took a seat beside him, my legs hanging off the edge as they had done on the kitchen counter.

"I miss her," he mumbled, "more than anything."

"Was it just the two of you?" I asked as I lay back against the bed frame next to him "Yeah... My dad was never around. He left when I was young, my mum told me it was some bullshit reason about not wanting to deal with me or something."

"I'm sorry about that," I comforted.

"I met up with him once when I was thirteen," he added.

"After he said something like that?" I questioned. "Why?"

"When you see everyone else with two parents, you start to wonder what it feels like, you know? I guess I was desperate..."

"How did it go?"

"About as good as you can imagine." He took a breath and shut his eyelids, shaking his head at the memories which were resurfacing. "I knew it was a stupid idea. We had nothing in common."

"Did you see him again?"

"I never picked up the phone and he never contacted me. I guess that shows how much he really cared. It's not a relationship when there's only one person putting in the effort." He paused and scoffed. "That line can sum up most of my relationships actually."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, turning my head. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. The way his chest lifted and fell rhythmically with each breath was hypnotic. It was easier to talk this way. Easier to let the words spill out without having to make eye contact, without having to gauge for a reaction.

"Did your mum talk about him much?" I questioned.

"She used to say she was glad he wasn't around, that it would've been like looking after two kids instead of one." He paused, a small breath escaping his parted lips. "Mum was the only person I needed, all we ever had was each other. We were more like best friends than anything else... Everything she did, she had her best intentions."