He was at his dad’s that week
so I was given his room, his bed,
to sleep in for those nights,
the house was quite chaotic – stacks of
things – magazines, boxes, bits and bobs – all over the
place,
and Ava,
as I climbed into the bed an
overwhelming scent
hit me –
no,
not just a scent,
an atmosphere,
she hadn’t washed the sheets.
Now I’m not normally that squeamish, but really, Ava –
it was bad.
An all-consuming sadness
saturated every item in that space –
even the walls,
the carpet, ceiling,
covered in the stuff –
and the horror of the sheets –
the mattress, pillows, duvet,
too much, Ava,
too heavy
it overwhelmed my senses
and immediately
I hated him,
I did!
This unknown boy
who wallowed, brooded, sobbed and raged in that
soft nest –
his body that had left its trace,
its shape there in the bed.
I lay down at the edge of his long indent, utterly
repulsed.
I felt that I was being marked by every fear, every
single dark, disgusting thought this boy had
ever had –
I didn’t understand,
