An empty home

Today was the day. It was the day that John had been dreading since his husband, Charles, fell ill two years ago. He choked back his pain and took a deep breath. He was being evicted from his home.

John stood at the entrance to their shared home, just within the doorway, as he inspected every inch of the walls one last time. In one hand was a suitcase full of his clothes and small items, while in the other was a picture frame containing a photo of the pair on their wedding day several years before.

When Charles fell ill, John quit his job and pulled together all their savings to invest in his husband's care. Charles knew that something was wrong near the end of his life, but John wouldn't dare say a word. In truth, Charles' care had emptied their bank account, and John had defaulted on a number of payments on their home.

Charles had died two months before, and though John was grief-stricken, he tried his best to find work. He was trying to do anything to earn money to save his home. In the end, it was all for nothing. He couldn't raise the funds to clear his debts, even resolving to sell some of their possessions to make ends meet.

He glanced down at the frame in his hand, and tears pricked at his eyes. A single droplet fell onto the glass, which John carefully swept away with his thumb. He felt so broken, like he had let Charles down.

He had many photos of them together, but this was his favourite. They were cutting the cake, and Charles had managed to get fondant and cream all over his suit. It was a silly moment that the photographer had managed to capture, but their smiles were so genuine in that moment. Charles' smile always brought comfort to John, as it was doing then while he was standing in the doorway. Charles looked so healthy in the photo. If only they'd known then that cancer was creeping its way into his organs, perhaps they would have done things differently.

No, that's not true; John would have done nothing different, even if he had to do it all again. In the midst of his heartache, he was grateful that Charles' pain had ended.

He looked around the once-vibrant walls that hung with photos of their adventures. All that remained were the sun-bleached marks where the frames had once been. The photos had all been packed away in the back of John's car, along with any other items he didn't or couldn't bear to sell. He had only kept out their wedding photo so he could look upon his late husband when he needed a hint of joy. And he needed a lot of that lately.

John sighed quietly, placing the frame within the front pocket of his suitcase before making his way out of the house. He locked the door behind him and placed the key in the hand of the enforcement officer who was waiting outside. The man had pity in his eyes as he looked over at John, to which John returned with a weak smile. Perhaps the man felt guilty that he was taking John's martial home, but it was too late for that now.

John thanked the man for his patience and placed his suitcase inside his car with the rest of whatever items he had left, which were scarce. He nodded to the officer before getting in the driver's seat and driving away. The same pitiful look was reflected back at him.

As he drove away, towards the hotel room he had managed to secure for the next few days, he cast his mind back to the photo in his case. In his mind, the image melted away into memory as their static figures came to life.

He was behind Charles, helping guide his hand with the knife as it sliced through the sponge. As they drew back the blade, it had gotten lodged on the fondant, which then ripped away and covered Charles' sleeve. He wailed and flicked his head around to face John, whose expression consisted of surprise and humour. He rubbed his thumb against the cream, scooping it up (and smearing it into the fabric) before lifting it to his lips.

"Yum." He chuckled, taking another piece and feeding it to Charles, who now had a giddy expression on his face as well.

"Thank you." Charles whispered quietly.

"No, thank you." John whispered back as he pecked Charles on the lips.

As they turned back to the cake to continue slicing, the photographer's camera clicked and flashed, capturing their bemused, excited smiles forever.

John's memory faded as his focus returned to the road ahead. He sighed to himself and flicked on the radio, trying to drown out the sorrow in his mind. A chipper tune sounded through the air—not that John was really listening, but he needed something to keep him distracted from the memories while he drove.

He arrived at the hotel and glanced at himself in the rear-view mirror. Not to his surprise, he had been crying. He wiped them away and sniffed back any further tears that were trying to escape. He checked into his room and threw his suit case down on the floor before throwing himself on the bed.

The bed engulfed him, like a cloud surrounding the moon or like a snake crushing its prey. He shot up straight, gasping as the thought of suffocation filled his mind. He looked around him; the room was safe. He was safe. Why had he thought of that? Though his mind had been creating all sorts of scenarios and visions in the last few months.

Sadly, his worst nightmare had come true, and he was officially homeless. He hated the thought that everything they had built together was now gone. Their furniture, their walls, their carpets, their home, their memories. Nothing left. Except for the memories, though, even in this moment, they gave John no comfort.

He took a deep breath before relaxing back into the duvet once more. It was soft, almost heavenly. Their bed was one of the things he had to sell, resulting in him sleeping on the floor for many months. Charles was in some way fortunate that he was bedridden downstairs, so he couldn't see how empty the rest of the home had become.

He had noted how John was looking sunken and drained, but he couldn't work out why. He knew he was tired from caring for him every day since his illness had progressed, but he was looking worse and worse. John refused to tell Charles of the sacrifices he had made, not wanting to cause him any more distress.

Truthfully, Charles felt like he was a burden on John, though John insisted otherwise. He could and would never know the truth, and that's how John wanted it to stay, up until the end.

It wasn't long before sleep took him. He dreamed of Charles and their lives played before his eyes. It was restful and was what he needed after everything that had happened. Even though he had lost their home and was worried about what he was going to do next, it was the best sleep he had had in years.

John slept until the next day, when he realised he had slept fully clothed. Even in the twists and turns of his slumber, he hadn't made it under the duvet. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, allowing the hot water to wash away his worries.

If only it was that simple. Still, he tried.

With the towel wrapped around his waist, he pulled out the wedding photo and placed it on the bedside cabinet. He angled it towards himself and smiled blissfully at Charles before turning it to face the pillows so he could stare at it later that night.

He emptied some of his clothes from the case, hanging up trousers and jackets to try and remove their creases. He flicked on the kettle, prepared a mug for coffee, and pulled a newspaper out of the case as well. He turned the pages to the job and vacant home sections, clicking a pen and circling advertisements that caught his fancy. At this moment, anything caught his fancy.

The kettle flicked off, and John filled his mug, letting the aroma swoop around his body. It was a simple thing that brought a smile to his face and made his heart flutter. He took a deep swig and returned his attention to the pages.

This kept him busy for an hour or so before his stomach reminded him that it had been an age since their last meal. He placed the pen down and finished the dregs of his mug when he heard the pen moving. He glanced his eye down and watched as it rolled and swung its position, pointing towards a lodging offer. He wrinkled his nose at the idea, having not shared a home with anyone but Charles during his adult life, yet this advertisement intrigued him.

The pen, after hesitating on that advertisement for the moment, rolled further before stopping on a banking clerk position. John raised an eyebrow before leaning forward. He wasn't sure if it was the hunger or his drowsiness, but he thought he saw the pen shake as if trying to get his attention.

He discarded this notion; it was a mere coincidence that the pen landed on the same role he had had before he quit. Still, he reached for his mobile and dialled the number. He confirmed details with the agent and sent over his CV, which was more promising and further than he had gotten with previous inquiries.

With this in mind, he called the number for the lodging offer and spoke with an older woman. He explained his situation, and she must have been moved by his words, as she wanted to arrange a time for them to meet.

After the two phone calls, John sat back in his chair and mulled over the details for a moment. The pen hadn't moved since he had last placed it down, leading him to believe its rolling was a trick of the mind. And yet, he stared at it intently.

"Charlie?" He said it quietly. His tone was confused, but hopeful. The pen shook again, turning and pointing behind John.

He turned to face where the pen was pointing. It's directly in line with the photo he had placed earlier. He blinked a few times and held his hands up in defeat; it was certainly a trick.

He continued getting dressed and collected his wallet and phone, ready to head down to breakfast. As he shut his door behind him, he thought he could hear Charles' muffled laughter coming from his room. He quickly clicked the door shut; it was a trick of the mind.

Or was it? He smiled to himself, for he knew Chlares was watching over him, and he was determined to make him proud.