by PJ Vye
He droves me to Geelong where he’d booked an Air B’n’B that must have cost less than a bag of Aldi groceries. A room in a private house with a family. No privacy, shared bathroom.
I tried to be understanding. Maybe he didn’t realise.
When it was time for dinner, I put my dress on, and Judd announced he’d only brought track pants for the weekend and wants to just get take-out. He thought it was supposed to be ‘casual’. I tried not to let my disappointment show so I put my dress on anyway. He ignored me in it, like he didn’t want to draw attention to how different our expectations were. We ended up eating in our room. I cried when I got Chicken Tasala on my dress and he laughed and said I looked like a giant bag of fairy floss in it anyway.
I couldn’t stop the tears then—I sobbed as silently as I could, because I didn’t want the family who lived there to hear. Judd eventually shrugged and walked out. I heard the front door close and I lay on the bed for hours crying. At 1am when he hadn’t returned, I called him, but he’d left his phone in the room. At 2am I got the ute keys and sneak out of the house and drove the streets, searching for him. At 3am I gave up, thinking maybe I missed him, and he’d be home. He wasn’t. He stumbled in at 5am, blind drunk and barely able to stand. He must have drunk enough alcohol to cover the cost of a fancy hotel and a restaurant dinner.
I wanted to get in the ute and drive home, leave him to his hangover. But I knew how angry he’d be and how long he’d make me remember how inconvenient it’d been to catch a train home. And how the cost of the train would have to come out of my budget. So, I stayed, climbed into bed and laid awake while he snored so loudly the bed rattled.
Do you know how worthless you make yourself feel, not standing up for what is fair?
I let him make me feel less than equal, less than human. I won’t ever let anyone make me feel that way again.”
Mataio met her gaze and nodded. He wanted to believe her, but he knew the cycle first-hand and at the end of the day, Sunny wanted to be loved.
As if she’d read his mind, she asked in a softer voice, “Do you believe me yet?”
She patted his hand in a friendly gesture and he casually moved it away.
Mataio considered her question. “I believe you wouldn’t go back to him as he is. But what if he changed? Judd is an ignorant moron and I have no doubt he’ll always regret losing you. If he did want to change, do you think he could?”
“I don’t believe a person can change.”
“If that’s true, Sunny. If that’s really true, then you’re safer with him than you are with me.” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them.
“What do you mean by that?” Sunny’s eyes bore into his and he had to walk his plate to the sink to break the contact.
Mataio knew where the line was. He knew how to stay on the safe side of it. Sunny was blurring that line. “Talk to me. What’s going on, Mat?”
Mataio had to back track. She already knew he held a secret. The mesh holding everything together strained being near her. One wrong word and the whole thing unravelled. “I gotta go.”
“Mat, wait—”
He didn’t hear the rest. He made his way to Junior’s room where he knew she wouldn’t follow and sat beside his aunt who slept awkwardly in the recliner chair.
Keeping his mind strictly in the moment, he arranged a pillow carefully under her head and placed a blanket over her legs. Her ankles were swollen, and her toes crooked with arthritis. She’d spent too many hours in service of her son, on her feet, lifting him, feeding him. She needed a rest of her own.
Junior also slept, a steady rhythm of loud inhales and exhales, his lips quivering as the air brushed against them.
Mataio picked up Junior’s chart and scanned through it, unseeing. His mind flipped back to his own mother and her determination to believe his father might one day change into a decent human being. When Mataio got old enough to realise his father was not like other fathers, he grew to despise the nights his mother would make excuses for his behaviour as she pushed icepacks to her bruises.
Once, he remembered he’d worked up the courage to ask her if they could leave, fighting back the tears so she could see he was old and brave enough to cope. He’d show her how a man should behave. He’d be strong, and he’d never hurt her. His mother had listened but then suggested when he felt that way, to focus on all the good things his father did for them.
“If you focus on the good things,” she’d say, “it’s okay. The bad times don’t last. They pass. It’s worth staying for the good stuff. Don’t you think?”
Mataio had wanted to believe her. The instinct to protect her and himself continued to grow and he truly believed she’d have left him eventually, had she lived long enough to make the choice.
Maybe his father knew that too.
Mataio picked up Junior’s tray, collected his aunt’s teacup and returned them to the sink. Sunny wasn’t his mother, and she seemed like a different person to the one he’d met several weeks ago on the stairs of her apartment. Maybe Sunny would be okay.
He rinsed the dishes and left them to dry and tried not to notice the smell of Sunny’s sandalwood hand cream by the sink. He’d never be able to smell sandalwood again without an image of her in his mind.
He’d had no chance to swipe the passport back at Judd’s—the man must have it hidden away.
Another week, she’d said, before the new passport arrived. Another week of Sandalwood.
He gave himself a mental shove—he’d resisted temptation for twenty years. He could get through anything. Ridiculous to think this situation could be any threat.
As he turned off the lights in the kitchen, it took him a while to realise the music was in his house and not his head. A violin piece he’d heard many times trickled through the room. It was the piece she’d play after an argument, once Judd left the house. It was the saddest in her repertoire, by far. It always made him wonder who the music belonged to and what terrible life they must have lived to extract such desperate sorrow out of every phrase.
It sounded like the violin cried. A long, mournful release of sadness, of yearning for something out of reach. Most days she’d play more conventional music, but when she played this piece, he knew she was hurting.
So why was she playing it now?
As quietly as the squeaky floorboards would allow, he moved towards her bedroom door, La’ei’s bedroom door, and watched through the opening.
He’d heard her so many times through the ceiling of his laboratory but seeing her play was something else entirely.
She stood in the alcove of the window, her eyes closed, her long, gold hair sparkling with the streetlight outside pouring through. The fingers on her left hand oscillated and the bow moved slowly over each string, a mournful stretch of melody and richness speaking wordless messages to him.
A sorrow that only he himself knew, but somehow shared with her.
Her face didn’t show sadness though—it was lit with a gentle acceptance, a peace he yearned for, a peace he never knew. She took comfort in the sound she made, the conversation she had with the instrument, and he watched like you might watch a movie, feeling the emotion of the storyline but knowing it’s not really you in it.
Eventually she finished, and her eyes opened on him, like she’d known he’d been there the whole time.
She didn’t move.
Mataio pushed through the stuck, half closed door, and stood as close to her as he dared. “You’re incredible.”
She turned away and loosened the hairs on her bow. “Tell me, Mataio. Do you want me to go back to Judd?”
He sensed the distress in her voice, even though she spoke evenly.
Mataio wanted to explain why he’d tested her, but he couldn’t find the words. “I’m sorry.”
Sunny wrapped her violin in a white cloth and placed it in its case. “Judd made me feel worthless—like I had nothing to offer. But at least I recognised it eventually, and I did something about it.”
> Mataio nodded his agreement. “You deserve much more.”
She snapped the clips hard on the case. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course,” he frowned.
“When I’m with you, around you…well you can make me feel that way too,” she answered simply.
He must have misunderstood. He could never be that kind of man. “Sorry?”
“Inferior,” she went on. “Untrustworthy. Less than normal. Like I don’t deserve to be here.”
A cavern opened beneath him and he couldn’t process her words until the vacuum released. What was she saying? How could she feel that way, when he considered her more worthy than he ever could be?
She took his silence as agreement. “I am worthy, though. I might not feel it yet, but I know I am.”
He stood, unable to speak, coming to terms with the truth in her words. Did he think he was better than her, because he was strong enough to live by The Rules? Because he was saving people? Because he had a plan and she didn’t?
Sunny opened her suitcase. “I’m going to leave—get a hotel.”
He watched her a moment, shoulders sagged, tears forming as she randomly packed makeup into her handbag.
Mataio put his hand on her waist and turned her towards him. She shrugged him off. He tried again and she shrugged him off again.
There was nothing he could say. If his actions made her feel the same as Judd, then he’d totally got something wrong. How could he possibly fix it?
“Sunny, I’m so sorry.”
He turned her again and this time she stayed. They were very nearly the same height, his lips level with her eyes. She didn’t raise her face to him and seemed confused about what he’d initiated.
He kissed her forehead and confusion flicked through her eyes. He shut logical thought down and focused on only one thing—rid her of the idea that he didn’t want her, that she wasn’t desirable, that she wasn’t everything a man could possibly want.
He took her head between his hands and kissed her lips, tenderly as she’d kissed him in the ute those few days ago.
The softness of her, the smell of sandalwood, the gentle flicker of her long eyelashes closed against his skin—the heat leapt through him fast and unexpectedly. He’d just wanted to stop the words coming from her mouth, erase her thoughts of inadequacy, but now his body had awakened and his lips on hers just wasn’t close enough.
Words and thoughts and rules held Mataio together. They kept him strong and disciplined and driven. But the point he needed to make right now needed action, not words. At least, that was the last logical thought he had before the flames overtook him.
He kissed her, his mouth exploring hers, and she lifted her arms around his neck. He moved his hands lower and pulled her closer still, her neck tilted to allow him full access to the milky white of her skin. He kissed her neckline and she opened her shirt for him. He gave a soft, low groan at the sight of her breasts, nipples erect in a lacy pink bra.
She looked up then and he met her eyes. This was where he should stop. He’d delivered the message. The thought flicked in and out of his head faster than Ipo’s mealtime.
He turned and wrenched the stuck bedroom door closed. It made a hideous screech against the floor and they both stood in the silence that followed and listened. When no-one came, he took her hand and led her to the bed.
Rule No. 7
No Sex
Twenty-Nine
MATAIO
16 days to go
He noticed the warmth of her most of all. Her white skin on his dark skin, their arms and legs intertwined like an elongated Ying Yang symbol. The Sandalwood smell was in her hair, not on her clothes as he had previously thought.
He kissed her mouth and interlaced his fingers with hers. His body felt heavy and light at the same time, like it’d been holding something up in the air forever and he’d just been allowed to drop it. He knew he was sinking but he wouldn’t acknowledge anything in his brain, only how good it felt to be with her.
Sunny flicked her tongue inside his mouth and desire consumed him. He entered her, barely realising that was what he was doing and let out an involuntary moan as she encased him, an excitement he barely knew existed. He pulled his mouth from hers to check her face and she stared back deep into his eyes like she knew exactly how he felt.
She matched his movement as his body pressed against hers, each thrust more irreversible than the one before. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, he should be waiting for her, reading her needs, but he had no experience of such things and didn’t know how he could do anything but be inside her at this moment.
Footsteps approached and Sunny held him to stop moving. The bed may have been squeaking, he couldn’t be sure. He’d heard nothing but the sound of his breath mixed with hers. He wouldn’t have noticed the footsteps either, but for Sunny’s warning.
They both held their breath and waited for a knock, or the door to open.
Very quietly, Sunny lifted a sheet over them both. In this room, twenty years ago, Aunt Tulula would have barged straight in. But he was a grown man now, and Sunny was a guest, and the footsteps eventually moved on.
The moment seemed to have distracted Sunny and she released her hands from her hold around his waist. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking as she touched his face, but he knew he could get lost in those eyes. With just the slightest flick of her hips, he felt a surge ignite that couldn’t be rewound and he came crashing inside her—a rush of relief and pleasure and instinct he’d been denied for twenty years.
Her eyes widened a moment and an expression crossed her face he couldn’t recognise.
He fell back on the bed, his body close beside her as his breath returned to normal, and he felt a peaceful heaviness enclose him like a long dream.
As his heart slowed, messages seeped into his brain—he tried to hold on—but the brain bit back with a kaleidoscope of consequences that circled inside his head. He sat up suddenly and put his hand to his throat. He couldn’t swallow. Where were his clothes?
He climbed over Sunny without seeing her and felt the cool air against his skin where her body had been and wondered how he’d ever feel warm again.
“I have to go.” he said. What were you supposed to say after? When he’d lost his virginity to Kiara Johnson out on the school oval at midnight when he was fifteen, there hadn’t been time for conversation afterwards because it had started to rain and they’d scrambled away, each going their separate ways home. That had been the depth of his sexual experience and now he had nothing to go with. He knew he wasn’t doing it right, but he knew he had to leave.
Everything had changed. This was La’ei’s room, her bed for God’s sake. What had he been thinking? He’d only had two weeks to go. Now it was over. He’d fucked up as badly as he could fuck up.
How could he protect them now?
Thirty
MATAIO
16 days to go
Mataio heard the screen door slam behind him as he headed down the path and out onto the street. He gave no thought to direction, but let his legs choose for him.
He hadn’t been strong enough. He’d been so close to the end and went and let his guard down. Now, at the finish line, he’d gone and broken the lock on everything that held his world together.
The monthly check-in was due in a few days. Could he lie? Was there any point lying?
He kicked at a branch on the footpath so hard he almost tripped himself. The last nineteen years may as well have been for nothing.
He wanted to rip his hair out. What a fool. An idiot. How did this happen?
She’d slipped through—the girl with the sad smile. He should have recognised it, from the second he walked up those steps to her apartment. From the moment he looked into those sad, lifeless eyes of a woman trapped. Like his mothers. Of course, it would be someone like Sunny who would break him. He’d walked right in like an amateur.
Mataio threw his hands up and turned a tight circle on the footpat
h, eventually resting his hands on his hips. The moon sat low in the sky and streetlights cast long shadows on the road. An old man with a dog on a lead gave him a worried look and hurried past. Mataio punched the metal fence beside him and it let out a loud ring that made the dog jump and bark in fright. The man walked a little faster.
Mataio’s hand stung and he shook it as he continued down the street, more than surprised by his outburst. He shouldn’t be surprised though. He knew this would happen. The unlocked door. The unfulfilled promise.
Even if it didn’t matter, even if nineteen years and 324 days was close enough, there’d been a process to go through, and he’d just shut down The Rules like they didn’t exist.
He’d been so careful. He’d even thought, after a few years, it was what he wanted—that The Rules were good for him.
One moment of weakness had been all it took. How many moments of weakness had he endured, overcome? Hundreds. How many women had he turned down? The promotions he’d given up. The free travel, the perks, the cars, the parties, the friendships, the lifestyle, the joy. Because he’d believed it would matter in the end.
Now nothing mattered but one thing. The women in his life had to be kept safe but he couldn’t protect them properly here. Sunny needed to be on the next flight back to the UK.
He remembered the feel of her skin again and he stiffened, even as he walked. He couldn’t get the memory of skin and heat from his mind. He wondered if she still laid there where he left her. Her smell, the softness, the feeling of serenity, like nothing else mattered or existed.
