Strength

This time he went back through the engine bay to the small space with all of their turn out gear hung ready, meaning to find the clean tunic and over pants ready as spares on his rung. When he stood before them, and touched them, the clothes seemed so huge and heavy that he could not imagine that he had ever had the strength to wear them, the presence to fill them. Waves of nausea ran over Andy until he had to let go of the thick material of the tunic, his hands greasy and cold.

He hurried back through to the bathrooms at the back of the locker room, went into a cubicle and sat down heavily, closing his eyes.

When he was sure he would not vomit he opened them again, to the colourless tones of the sterile place, off whites on greys. He cried so heavily he had to hold his powerful hands down onto his legs as they shook uncontrollably. He wiped at his face and ran his wet hands over his trousers, and his fingers ran over the knife at his belt, and he took it out of its cover, turned it over and over and opened the biggest blade.

He put the blade up to his throat and it bit in so much more quickly than he had expected, easily, and he thought how this could be done with, so quickly.

The white tiles of the wall, the dull greys of the floor and the back of the door glared at him. He could see the depth of the colour his blood would bring, streaking across the emptiness. He could feel the floppiness he knew so well from all those cars, of arms and legs once the blood doesn’t run anymore. Thought of the stickiness that covers everything, how it would mat the hair of their arms as they wrenched him out of the coldness of that place. Those men upstairs, those to come soon.

He sat deathly still, the pain had stilled his breathing, and the tears too. All these years of being alone seemed to have become one moment of sheer loneliness here in such a place.

He could not bring pain to these men too, not here.

He folded the blade and put the knife away, his hands shaking so that it took some time. He stood slowly, weakly and listened, no sound came from the locker room and he went out and stood at the row of sinks, cupping water onto his face over and over, not wanting to see himself in the mirrors.