by Holly Bourne
I found myself perched on the amp, rigid with tension. Was I being dramatic? Probably. But I had no idea what had happened and where Reese had gone and why everything suddenly felt so wrong. I ran through everything I must’ve done to upset him, but I couldn’t figure it out. It was so obvious I’d done something bad. Should I have kept the gig to myself? He’d always been so supportive of my music right up until that moment though. How was I supposed to know I shouldn’t have told him?
Eventually, after way too long of me sitting on an amp and trying to contain the hurricane of stress raging inside of me, Reese stopped.
“Good work, guys, the Turtle won’t know what’s hit it,” he said, shrugging off his strap.
I jumped off my perch and went in for a hug, desperate to make things normal. “Sounded great, as ever.” I grinned at him, need pulsing through me.
He hugged me back loosely, then sort of shoved me off. “Thanks, Ammy. You didn’t need to have stayed though.”
Like a slap, it was.
When he said that.
“What?”
He looked past me at the egg boxes on the wall. “I mean, I’m just saying, if you’ve got other things you need to do, that’s totally fine.” Then, as if he wasn’t quite finished what-the-fucking me, “We don’t have to do everything together.”
I tried to blink away the humiliation, as the band stood around awkwardly, pretending they hadn’t overheard. It hurt for so many reasons. One, because he’d always wanted me there before. Two, because he knew full well that I didn’t have other things I needed to be doing since falling out with Hannah. Three, because he’d waited until after I’d spent my whole evening sitting there like a melon before saying anything. Four, because he’d had sex with me before he told me he’d rather I hadn’t come. Rather convenient…
Ouch. So much ouch. But “ouch” isn’t an adequate word for the pain that rushed in.
“I know we don’t need to do everything together,” I got out, my voice wobbling. “You were the one who invited me round.”
He smiled but not with his eyes and reached out, grabbing my cheeks and pushing them together. “Because I wanted to see this cute little face,” he said in a squeaky baby voice.
“So…” I said, waiting for what normally happened. Which was that he would tell the band to clear off and we’d go to his room and act totally loved-up and gooey until it was way past either of our bedtimes. Johnnie, Mark and Rob also seemed to be awaiting the usual instructions. Yet Reese broke the pattern that night. He took off his hat, ruffled his hair, replaced it again, then spun away from me.
“Who’s up for some tinnies?” He walked over to the mini fridge in the corner, collected some beer cans and flung them to each band member.
They caught them expertly, pulling back the tops and filling the room with hisses and fizzes while I stood there, watching, waiting, tears stinging in my eyes, wondering if…
“Oh dear, littlie, it’s turned into a bit of boys’ night tonight, hasn’t it? It’s okay if you want to take off. I’ll understand.”
“Oh, right.”
There was no choice but to pretend I thought that was a totally cool idea. It practically killed me though, to say goodbye to everyone without bursting into tears. I hugged the boys goodbye. Rob even protested the plan. “Dude, stay and hang with us,” he said. “You make the air in here smell nicer.” But I had some pride, and, also, I could just sense Reese didn’t want me there.
“I’m actually really tired,” I said, wishing I had a better excuse. Wishing I had friends to hang out with so I didn’t feel so needy and pathetic and useless and unlikeable – things I’d never really felt so painfully about myself until that evening.
“Bye then.” I hovered at the door, waiting for him to stop me. Waiting for him to say, “Don’t go, I love you.” Waiting for him to be the boy he’d been very consistently right up till that night, until I’d somehow messed it all up.
Reese didn’t stop me.
He waved, without even kissing me goodbye, and started laughing at Rob because he’d spilled beer down his shirt. I pushed through the door, and the noise of his laughter stopped abruptly as it swung shut behind me. I stood in his moonlit garden, still in shock, the night air not quite hitting my lungs properly. My head felt all buzzy – like it was fizzing from overuse, generating its own heat from the anxious thoughts spiralling inside of it.
What did I do?
What’s going on?
Is it my fault?
Where did that come from?
I don’t understand.
Does he not love me any more?
…How can I make it okay again?
The crying started in my throat this time, like a tickly cough, as I trudged my way across the grass back to where I came from. The itch spread to the inside corners of my eyes. My head felt too full. There were so many feelings and no space for them to go. I left his front garden and stepped onto the pavement and I got to this hedge outside his house, and found I couldn’t take one more step. I dropped down so I was squatting, and weird hiccups of crying fell out of me.
They weren’t really tears of sadness, more tears of confusion. I didn’t know you could cry out of confusion before that night. Since I met you, I’ve learned of the giant cornucopia of different tears it’s possible to make someone cry: tears of sadness, tears of emotional exhaustion, tears of anger that you’re too scared to let out, tears of how unfair it seems, tears of what-the-actual-hell-is-happening, tears of shame for being yourself, tears of frustration because you know it can feel better than this, tears of hopelessness, tears because you’re worried by how much you’re crying… The list goes on.
Would I know about all those types of tears if I’d just listened to my gut that night?
Because my gut was screaming, This isn’t okay. It was twisting and lurching around in my body, like an aeroplane dropping out of the sky. It was going off like a siren. It was jabbing all my emotional buttons – making me cry.
Crying is a very obvious sign that something isn’t going right in your life. You should not ignore tears. I’m really starting to realize that. But, when I stood here – where I am now, holding my stomach and rubbing it to calm it down – I ignored my gut. I ignored my tears, and I would continue to do so for almost three more months.
Not any more.
I am standing here in the dark, and, before that, I was sitting in my kitchen, asking my gut if I needed to see a counsellor. My gut said yes.
I am going to speak to someone, Reese. I’m going to start talking about you, and you know what? I know that will make you panicky. There’s a part of me that still doesn’t want to upset you, despite everything you did. I don’t want to betray you. I don’t want to tell anyone how sometimes it was actually really, really awful between us, because admitting that is admitting to myself that you’re not My One True Love after all. That hurts, because I really, honestly, thought you were.
Guts and hearts aren’t always the most compatible – I’m starting to learn that. They pull in different directions, ignoring one another when they really shouldn’t. I think I need help working out which one I’m supposed to listen to.
Because I don’t want to cry any more. I really don’t.
What are your plans this weekend, Reese?
Are you going to a party with her? Maybe you’re rehearsing? With your friends and your self-esteem and your life without me in it – how I envy you. How I envy anyone who picks up their phone and has messages on it from people who like them enough to bother messaging them. What does that feel like? I’ve forgotten. My phone serves no purpose now, other than to taunt me with its complete uselessness.
Do you want to know my plans for the weekend? No, probably not. You don’t give a shit. I’ll tell you anyway.
I’m going up to London tomorrow. Which could sound exciting and impressive, if I wasn’t going alone to try and exorcize the ghost of my ex-boyfriend. Yep, it’s point number seven of the memory map and there’
s nothing else to do but relive that horrible memory.
Not just yet though.
It’s Friday still and therefore not quite the weekend. Normally I have a free period on Fridays after lunch, and I sit in the refectory with my hoodie up, trying to drown out the sound of everyone discussing their weekend plans. Today, however, I’m in this beige waiting room, in a counselling place in town. I’ve been offered a cup of tea by a receptionist who takes cardigans to a whole new level, and it feels so bloody surreal to be here and going through with this. It’s been a week since I promised my gut I’d come here, so here I am. I’ve refused to see the college counsellor, just in case they had to tell on you. I didn’t want to take that risk. So I’m in Anonymousville Counselling, dragging my jumper sleeves over my hands, wishing I’d taken Mum up on her offer to come with me after all, hanging my head and pretending my life hasn’t come to this.
Until, “Amelie?” A very thin woman with short hair is stood in front of me.
I nod.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Joan. Come right on in.”
I scuttle after Joan, down a corridor, and into a room with two chairs facing one another. I hover and wait for her to gesture to one. “Please sit,” she says, smiling.
So I do.
Then I wait.
She tilts her head, she gives me another smile. This is so awkward. This is so awkward, so help me god. What am I doing here? I don’t need counselling…do I?
“So,” she starts, still smiling her smile. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
“That’s okay,” I say to my shoes.
“I guess it’s best to start with some housekeeping. As I said, my name’s Joan. I want you to know this is a safe space. Anything you say in here is completely confidential. The only time I may have to break confidentiality is if I think you’re at risk to yourself, or others. But, if that comes up, I’ll talk you through it. For now, it’s important you know that you can say whatever you want to say in here.”
Part of my stomach uncurls, a part I didn’t realize was tense.
“Now…” She crosses and uncrosses her legs. “What’s brought you here? When I talked to your parents on the phone, they said you’re struggling with your college work?”
I nod. There’s no denying it.
“And can you think of any reason why this might be? Is anything going on for you right now?”
I pause before I nod again.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
I open my mouth to speak, and yet nothing seems able to come out. I’ve not spoken about you to anyone, not once. But then look where that’s got me. Joan waits patiently for me to fill the silence. The smile is back – kind, patient.
“This may sound stupid…”
“I promise you there’s nothing you can say that’s stupid in here.”
I swallow. I twist my hands around one another. I stare the scribble of us right in the face and it hurts, still hurts so much.
“It’s just…would you think I was really shallow and lame if I told you I’m upset because of a boy?”
Her smile is sad for a moment – knowing. “No, Amelie. I wouldn’t,” she said. “In fact, you’d be surprised by the number of people I see who say exactly this. Now” – she sits forward in her chair – “why don’t you tell me about it?”
The train to London is crammed even for a Saturday. One of the lines has engineering works on, so when the doors open, the carriage already throbs with too many people with large suitcases and no seats left. I fold myself in next to the stinking toilets, my sleeve over my mouth. I stare out the window as the train pulls away and chugs towards the capital. I’m still feeling weird after yesterday’s introductory counselling session. It’s not raining, but the whole sky is just grey and eurgh, and no wonder everyone is out, just to try and cheer themselves up.
The weather was gorgeous the day we came up here…
It was freezing though, and the train was mostly empty. We nestled up to one another, wrapping our coats together to make one giant coat. I laid my head on Reese’s shoulder and he kissed it and I felt so, so warm and full. Things had been wobbly for a few weeks, but since I’d opened the first window on my Galaxy advent calendar two days ago, it had improved. My relief was so palpable I could practically taste it on my tongue.
Though my tongue was pretty busy with him.
“Reese,” I laughed, pushing him off. “We’re in public.”
He put his hand up my skirt under the protection of our coats. “So? The carriage is half empty. No one will notice.”
I pushed him away and worried he’d get pissed off, but luckily he laughed and the relief felt all the heavier for it. He’d been weird and distant after that night in the garage – not returning my calls very quickly, and, when he finally did, barely speaking down the phone.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I feel like something is wrong.”
“Well, there isn’t.”
“You’re not talking very much.”
“I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”
The surging relief I’d felt whenever he finally called was quickly replaced with churning anxiety by the time I hung up. Reese had also started batting me off whenever I went in for a kiss at college, but then acting like he hadn’t. This was combined with him occasionally going quiet and withdrawn, and acting a little bit like he hated me.
“Why would I hate you? You’re my girlfriend,” he said, the one time I’d felt brave enough to bring it up.
Quite frankly, it had been terrible – like standing on a rug that someone kept tugging and tugging so you never really had your balance. And yet, what made it worse was, Reese continued to pretend he wasn’t tugging the rug.
But not any more. Well, not on that stunning morning whizzing up to London. He was back into us, and back into me. The rug had been put down. He made eye contact again, he looked at me like I was the best thing since all the things that were best since sliced bread. It was just a weird patch, I told myself. Look how great things are now.
Reese pulled back my hair, all the better to kiss my neck.
“You okay, my little thing?” he asked. “You’re not still upset about that stupid pub gig, are you?”
I winced a little at the reminder. The previous day had been my pub slot at the Red Deer, and Reese and the band had come to support me. I certainly ended up needing support. The gig was terrible. I’d just sat on this stool in the corner, singing my heart out, while everyone ate their roast dinners and ignored me. Then some pissed-up football players turned up, and started shouting out demands for Bon Jovi and essentially booed me until I was almost crying.
“It was really awful, wasn’t it?” I said.
More kisses of reassurance. “You did so well, considering it was so shit. I don’t know why they bothered booking you if they knew the crowd would be like that.”
“I still can’t believe we’re not going into college today. I never bunk off.”
“Don’t worry so much. It’s my early Christmas present to you. Also, you need cheering up after yesterday.”
I sighed. “Do you ever wonder if all this music stuff is worth it?”
“No.” He stiffened up again. “I never doubt it for a moment.”
I shook my head. “I was just asking.”
“This industry will try and break you,” he went on, like he’d been in it for a million years. “But you’ve got to be strong, Amelie. Only the really talented and the really strong make it.”
“Of course.” I nodded. “Of course.”
He took a sip of his coffee and pulled the brim of his hat down. I searched his face for signs that he was going to go off me again. My tummy tightened, like someone had turned a screw on it, as I waited for his judgement. False alarm. He turned and gave me such a smile and leaned in to kiss me tenderly. I could taste his bitter coffee in my mouth when he pulled away. The sun hit his face through the window and he was gold. We were
gold. The world was perfect again.
Now, I’m squashed next to a toilet and thinking about a few things Joan said yesterday.
“So, your boyfriend?” she said.
“Ex-boyfriend, I guess.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. You say you still love him very much?”
I nodded, and gulped down the sob which had bubbled up by admitting that.
“Can you tell me a bit about why you love him?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just, from some of the things you’ve said, it sounds like there were a lot of things going on between you. Even before you broke up, there was stuff that didn’t make you very happy…”
I couldn’t argue with that, even though I wanted to.
“…and so, it would be interesting to talk a bit about what you loved so much about him.” She paused, waiting.
“Well,” I started, grasping for something. “The thing about him is he’s so charismatic. The whole room seems to beat around him. There’s something special about that.”
Joan didn’t narrow her eyes, but she didn’t look convinced. So I gabbled on.
“And, he’s a really talented musician. He works so hard at it.”
Another pause.
“He wears these hats all the time.” I laughed fondly. “He just looks good, you know? He’s so confident and good at talking to people.”
Joan nodded. She remained unconvinced. Not that she admitted as much – you could just tell. “Thank you for telling me all that, Amelie. Can I ask what you loved about how he treated you? When you were together, what did he do that made you feel so in love?”
“Well,” I started, sinking into the good memories like they were my cosiest pair of pyjamas. “At the beginning, he was the most amazing boyfriend ever…” And I told her about our fairy-tale first date, how you always walked me home, how I never doubted that you loved me because you told me all the goddamned time.
“What about after the beginning?” Joan pressed. “Then what did he do to make you love him?”
