Locked In Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright by Louisa Line

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  All rights reserved

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  First Edition April 2018

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  In loving memory of my father, Alan Line.

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  My best friend, my champion and my biggest fan.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Every time I think back to that day, the day it all started, I wonder, why me? What if I had left ten minutes later? What if the bus hadn’t been on time? Would I still be this way?

  So when I answer the overly friendly, unfamiliar voice on the phone, I find myself getting frustrated and angry. I mean how can she possibly know what it feels like to be me?

  She wants to know about that day again. The day that changed my life. I tell her the truth. It was just a normal day. I got up and went to work. For once I actually decided to leave on time which was unheard of. I was going to a party with Claire so I wanted to get back in time to get ready. Rushing for the bus I had managed to catch the five past five and jumped out at my stop just a short ten minute walk from my house.

  I didn’t hear them come up behind me and I couldn’t even tell you if they really had a gun or not. I just knew I had to hand over my money and jewellery so they didn’t hurt me. I didn’t even think twice about it. They took my belongings and then they ran off and that was that. I went home, called the police and they came and took a statement from me.

  She then pushes me more to talk about the following day. This is where it becomes harder. I mean, how do you explain that you can’t leave the house anymore that I felt a crippling fear as I got closer to the front door ready to leave for work. How could I explain to her that I called myself all the names I could think of or how I tried so hard to walk through that door but just couldn’t do it. It’s like I have my own private jail inside my house and inside my own head. I know I should be able to just open the door and step outside, so why is it so hard?

  She pauses on the line and explains how she will have get back to me but she is fairly certain she knows what’s wrong. At least someone does, I just feel like I’m going crazy. Maybe that’s what she’ll come back with - I’m crazy and then they can come and force me out of the house and lock me up in some psychiatric ward somewhere. I guess I’ll just sit and wait by the phone to find out. I mean it’s not as if I’m going anywhere. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

  Friday 5th May

  I’m sat at my window looking out onto the street below. Living on the top floor of flats has its advantages. I may only be three floors up, but it allows me the comfort of seeing what is happening below, while still remaining in my self-inflicted solitude. Another advantage is that I can see out but very few people ever take the time to look up and for that I am grateful. As with all things that get locked away and hidden, they just start to decay with age. I’ve been sat here for hours, watching the morning rush of my neighbours leaving for work. I find it far more interesting than watching the television. At least from up here all the characters have happy endings. The shows on the television just remind me of how messed up my life really is. I know everyone’s routine. First I watch the Mums taking their children to school and about ten minutes later the dog walking starts. How do I know all of these facts? Putting it simply, because I am a prisoner in a hell of my own making. I force myself to sit at the same window every day and watch the world slowly pass me by and this has become my comforter, my connection to the outside world. Today is particularly bad since it has been a year to the day since my self-inflicted sentence had started. A whole year has passed since my life had come crashing down around me. A whole year of solitude and longing, frustration and hatred. I think I must have experienced every emotion imaginable within this last year, except for the ones I truly crave - love, happiness and joy. All of these seem so far away from me right now. How am I ever going to experience any of these when I have no way of finding them?

  I often hold self-pity parties for myself. But today of all days I know that there is no way I am going to be allowed to. Distracted from my thoughts by my mobile ringing from somewhere within the flat, I make my way across the lounge and towards the sofa looking for it. I haven’t used it in a few days as there is only ever one person that rings me on it anyway. Removing the pile of clothes which are either clean, or dirty, I shove them onto the floor in the hope I left the blasted phone on the sofa. No such luck! It continues ringing incessantly. But it does leave me pondering when I last did a wash and whether I would have to add washing tablets to my weekly shopping order or not. Making my way over to the kitchen I see the worktop is full of dishes, some clean, mostly not. It’s not like I’m a slob or anything, it’s just I really don’t see the point in keeping a tidy house if I am the only one who is ever going to see it. Well, except on the odd occasion Claire comes down, but I make sure I make an effort on those days. It all just seems a bit pointless because when I run out of dishes I’ll just wash some and start again. I still don’t find my phone and, thankfully, it rings off but I know it’s not going to stop for long. Within seconds of it stopping it starts up again, just like I thought. I make my way towards the bedroom. Did I leave it there? I don’t normally have the phone in there, in fact most days I question having the stupid mobile at all. I mean the whole point of a mobile is to be contactable wherever you are and since I am always here what’s the point? It’s not as if anyone is going to lose me! I finally find it sitting on top of my bedside table and remember why it was there. I had been having a particularly bad day with the new pills I had been given and had forgotten to add some things to my online shopping basket. So, rather than switch on the laptop again, I had decided that I would quickly do it on the app. The ringing stopped again just as I grabbed the phone. I wait less than a second, not even making it back into the living room, before it starts up again.

  “Hello warden,” I answer the same way every time. Well, it feels like I am being checked up on.

  “What’s going on with my little agoraphobic today?” says the sing song voice coming down the line.

  “Oh,
you know. I saw Mrs Carson only had three of her children again today. Little Millie must be sick.”

  Claire has been my best friend since secondary school, even though we lost contact for a while when we went our separate ways after university. She has moved up north to be closer to her parents, as they had moved to a small town in Derbyshire to live a quieter life, after her father had been taken ill. She now lives a couple of hours away from me, but just a short car trip from her parents. Thankfully, her dad is doing much better but unfortunately, that does mean that she now has more free time to call me. Claire wouldn’t be Claire if she wasn’t worrying about someone. Saying that, she was the only one who stuck by me after my mugging and the following illness. I had been social before this had happened. It’s amazing how the calls and invites stopped after you don’t agree to go out a few times. Makes you realise who your friends really are. They call it an illness, I call it hell. I was diagnosed as agoraphobic a month after I was mugged. I knew Claire would remember the significance of today and that this would be why she is phoning. She calls every couple of days and always greets me the same way, well at least she has for the last six months since my medication has been sorted and the anti-depressants meant I could function as a semi normal human being, albeit one that cannot leave the confines of her own home.

  “Oh no, not poor Millie again. She is such a sickly little creature” Claire replies in her most sarcastic tone.

  We play this game every time and every time Claire gets more and more sarcastic. I actually have no idea who the lady is that walks her children to school past the flats every morning. The family moved in about 4 months ago. I often see her with her four children and have even made up names for every one of them, but who they actually are in real life, I have no idea.

  “So, Jessica, what’s new?” That’s my Claire, never one to let me off the hook for too long.

  “Oh, you know, same old, same old. Went out yesterday and got a spray tan, then went for a four-mile run. After that I went for a meal at the new Italian in town.” That’s me, always hiding my true feelings behind jokes. I mean, can I really tell my best friend how much of a failure I feel? How a simple thing everyone else takes for granted leaves me in a cold sweat?

  “Ha, ha, very funny Jess, how are you really doing?” OK, so I’m not being let off the hook today then.

  I build up the courage and say, “It’s been tough these last few days. I keep thinking maybe if I could just find a fix, some way of making this all go away, then I might be able to get my life back.”

  I know it started after the mugging but I also know the guys have been caught and, with the other offences they had against them, were still safely locked behind bars. It’s not that I’m afraid it will happen again. So, what is it that is keeping me trapped? What do I need to do to get out of this hell?

  “Jess, you know what the doctors say, small steps. There is no quick fix solution to this and no miracle cure.”

  “I know. It’s just I miss it Claire. I miss you.”

  “I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere! Now what’s your plan for today?” she asks.

  “I’ve got a shopping order coming after lunch, and this morning, since I have just turned the flat upside down looking for this phone, I guess I’ll be doing some tidying.”

  Claire openly laughs down the phone at me “Oh Jess, we both know that finding the phone didn’t cause the mess. You have always been a slob!” This has us both in hysterics and as we say our goodbyes I start to make a mental list of everything I have to get done today. First on the list has got to be tackling the kitchen since my food order should be coming today and at the minute I have nowhere to put it. Maybe I should start doing the washing up a little more regularly!

  Putting some music on, I busy myself in the kitchen. I always find that if I turn it up loud enough it stops me thinking about all the issues I have. Olly Murs has just started playing when the intercom buzzes. Turning down the music, I make my way to the door.

  “Hello?” I say nervously as I hold the buzzer. This is the part I hate. The not knowing.

  “Hello, Miss Wentworth, I have your food delivery. Shall I bring it up to the door for you?”

  “Hi James, that will be great, I’ll buzz you in,” I say with my finger already on the buzzer, “Any problems today?”

  “Nope, all there today. I’ll be up with it in just a second.”

  James is the delivery man from the local supermarket. He has been coming to my flat for the last six months and has helped in sorting the system we have in place. He always rings the intercom and discusses any problems with the order and we would sort it all out. I then buzz him up so he can leave the shopping in the hallway with the device for me to sign. He then goes back to his van and waits five minutes which gives me just enough time to get the shopping in and sign his machine. He then buzzes and comes back up to collect his device and leave. He always has the shopping placed so close to the door that I don’t have to set foot into the hallway. I can get my shopping and James gets his signature. It has worked great and made it possible for me to feel like I still have some control over my life.

  It has been an added bonus that the only other person who lives on my floor is a little old lady called Margaret. She lives on her own and is very set in her ways, but is lovely. I know her routine inside and out. Her day out is on a Tuesday when she leaves the house at nine o’clock without fail and returns at around twelve. She is also incredibly hard of hearing, which in previous years had been great for my social life. Not that any of that really matters now other than the comfort of knowing that the chances of anyone knocking on my door by mistake, or too many visitors passing by my door, was next to none.

  It hadn’t always been this easy. Let’s just say James was a Saint for putting up with my brand of crazy. After having many other delivery drivers who refused to leave the food outside, I had discovered James and once I had explained everything over the intercom he had been great. He has been very understanding, and as he has a cousin who is agoraphobic, understood my condition and now we have fallen into a very easy routine. I have my shopping delivered on the same day, at the same time, every week. That way, I know it would always be James that does the delivery. James has even ensured that the shop is aware of our little arrangement, just in case he is ever off. Thank goodness this has never happened yet!

  Friday 12th May

  The call from Mary, the Counsellor, always comes at the same time every week. It runs like clockwork and, of course, I am always in to receive it. We talk about anxiety coping mechanisms and how my progress is coming along. Of course, it never changes. They said that the cognitive behaviour therapy or CBT would work, but I’ve yet to feel any real significant difference.

  Right on cue, the land line starts to ring. I move from my spot at the window and walk the short distance across the room, ten steps to be exact, and answer the call on the fifth ring. Yes, I have counted how many steps and how many rings. I have to pass the time somehow so I have made up little games in my head, just like I do with the people I see out the window.

  “Hello, is that Jessica?” I mean, come on, as if it is going to be anyone else!

  “Yes, this is Jessica.”

  “And how are we doing today? Any improvements from last week? How are the breathing exercises going?”

  “I’ve tried the breathing, but to be honest I still can’t face going past the doorframe, even with the breathing exercises. I’ve also tried the activity of questioning my thoughts, and even though I know nothing will hurt me in my block of flats, I still can’t let a stranger come to my door.”

  “It’s OK, Jessica. Do the techniques help with the anxiety at all?”

  “A little. I’m able to go to the door now without any anxiety, and I use the breathing techniques to make me feel strong enough to open it when the corridor is empty but I can’t do it if someone is near the door or if I can hear or see anything in the corridor. Those are my limits! Even the delivery ma
n, James, has to wait downstairs until I bring the shopping in. Don’t even get me started on the poor postman!” I say, with a little giggle, remembering the freak out I had when he first insisted he had to see me to give me a letter and I basically broke down. I’m talking a full on meltdown. He was a bit more lenient after that.

  “Well, it’s good you’re opening it, at least. Let’s focus on people at the door next week.”

  We talk for a little longer about trying to organise some ladder of progress, but to be honest I’ve kind of switched off. It’s not that I don’t want to get better, it’s just nothing seems to help. Plus, what’s the point? I’ve really not made much progress in the last year and let’s face it, my life is in these four walls and nothing is ever going to change that.

  After we hang up, with the promise of another call in a week’s time, I walk back over to my window. This window has become my one link with the outside world, well, except for Claire. On some of my dark days I even wonder how much longer that friendship will last before she gets fed up with me.

  I don’t really know how long I have been sat at my window. I lose track of time when I’m creating my own little worlds and stories in my head of the people down below. My delivery is scheduled for today and I still have the kitchen to sort out before anything is going to fit in there. So, I drag myself away and set to work in the kitchen with my music on full blast to help with the ominous task I find myself doing every week.