About That Night

by Natalie Ward

  I nod again and Tony says nothing more except a mumbled shit as we both sit in silence and drink our beers.

  ~ Emma

  “Emma, wait, before you go,” the duty nurse says as I walk past the front station. “Did Dr Holden get hold of you?”

  “Who?” I ask, pausing for a second. I watch as the others from my shift head outside, the doors swinging to the outside world and everything that isn’t here.

  “Dr Holden,” she says, smiling at me as she glances down at her notes. “He called a couple of times?”

  I wrack my brain; trying to think of all the people I spoke to last night. I’m not sure I’d even remember any of their names at this stage; I’m so tired. I shake my head. “No, not that I know of,” I tell her.

  “Okay,” she says, shrugging, a strange look on her face.

  I nod, not really understanding before turning and walking out, hitching my bag on my shoulder as I brace myself to face the early morning sun…or more likely rain. It’s strangely disorientating, walking out into the early morning knowing you have to go home and sleep because you’ve been up all night.

  The worst part is, I’ve been on nights all week and now I have to try and trick my body into staying awake so I can get back on day shift in three days time. No wonder I have no life.

  “Laters, Em,” Dev, a trainee calls out when he sees me leave.

  “Night,” I say, waving as I squint in the morning winter sun, the rain apparently gone now. I fumble in my bag for my sunglasses, wondering if I shouldn’t just grab a taxi so I can get home quickly before my body has too much of a chance to adjust. As much as I know I need to reset my clock, I also need some sleep.

  “Hey.”

  That one word is enough to reset everything though, as a ripple shoots down my spine, almost jerking me to a halt. I look up and see him sitting on a bench by the exit, only he’s sitting on the back of it, his feet on the part you’d normally sit on.

  And as casual as it all seems, it isn’t. Because he’s sitting there and he’s watching me; intently, as though he’s been waiting for me.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my stomach fluttering.

  He smiles at me but he looks nervous. “Coffee?” he asks, reaching for a cup on the bench beside him.

  “What?” I ask as he holds the cup out. He watches me and even though it’s the last thing I should be drinking after a week of fifteen-hour night shifts, I step closer and take it, carefully, so we don’t touch.

  Nick watches me for another second or two before he looks away, reaching down for another cup of coffee. “I just finished work,” he says, not looking at me. “Thought maybe we could talk after you finished,” he adds, as though this is all completely normal and he isn’t a guy I only met a week ago and haven’t seen since. Isn’t a guy I shared a kiss with; a kiss that would have turned to more if I hadn’t suddenly been reminded of the fact that he has a girlfriend.

  My eyes close at the memory, still so fresh even though so many days and nights have passed since it happened. I can still remember the feel of his warm skin under my fingertips, the taste of whisky on his tongue as he kissed me.

  I have to stifle the groan as I force my eyes to open and push away the memories of that night. “You just finished work?” I repeat, glancing at my watch even though I know exactly what time it is. “At nearly eight on a Sunday morning?”

  He hops off the bench and it’s amazing how gracefully sexy he makes the whole move look. When he’s standing in front of me, I watch as he rocks on his heels a little, sipping his coffee.

  “Yeah, okay, so maybe I finished a while ago, but you know,” he says, shrugging. “I thought I’d come and see you.”

  “Why?”

  My question, or maybe it’s the tone, stills him.

  “Okay, maybe this was a mistake,” he says, the nervousness gone now and replaced by something else.

  What the hell is he doing here? And how did he even find me?

  It’s bad enough that I still see him every time I close my eyes, the memories that refuse to leave coming back to haunt me night after night. But now he’s here, at my work, acting as though nothing ever happened. As though whatever was about to happen in that back room that night wasn’t some huge mistake we were both about to make.

  I shake my head in annoyance as I lift the coffee to my mouth. The liquid is hot, fresh and delicious and so different to the shit I’m normally forced to drink. “You think?” I eventually say, frustrated and confused.

  “Fuck it, definitely a mistake,” he says.

  I watch as he turns and starts to walk away and for some reason, a pain starts up in my chest. That crack he created a week ago, widening a little more, as though to remind me of its presence when it’s so obvious I can barely forget it.

  “No, you know what,” he suddenly says, turning. “You don’t get to do this.”

  “Do what?” I ask, confused.

  “This,” he says, throwing an arm out as though that will somehow clear things up. “Walk away, push me away. Do…do, this,” he adds, gesturing between us.

  “What?”

  Nick stares at me, a mix of confusion and possibly anger on his face. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here and I’m most definitely sure I haven’t had enough sleep to begin dealing with it either.

  “There was…the other night…there…” He stops, frustrated. I say nothing; just wait watching as he paces in front of me. “You and me,” he says, gesturing between us again. “The back room…it was…I’m…”

  I take one last sip of coffee now before throwing it in the bin beside me. Nick stops, stares at me, almost as though he’s offended I’ve just thrown out the coffee he brought me.

  “The back room,” he tries again, his jaw clenched.

  I fold my arms across my chest; force myself to meet his stare as I throw one word back at him. “Amy.”

  “Ah, fucking hell,” he says, turning away as he shoves an angry hand through his hair. “That’s why I’m here,” he says. “To explain.”

  “You don’t think it’s a big deal?” I ask, getting pissed off now.

  “No, Emma, I don’t,” he spits out, turning back to face me.

  “Well, you know what, Nick,” I throw back at him. “I do. I don’t do other people’s boyfriends and I definitely don’t do backroom hook-ups with guys I barely know. So I’m sorry it went as far as it did, but I’m glad I stopped it. I’m glad I didn’t let you fuck up your relationship or me make the biggest mistake of my night. My life even.”

  I don’t know where the words come from but the second they’re out; I know they’re too much. The anger and frustration on his face disappears and is immediately replaced with shock. Hurt too. I’m not sure how long we stand here staring at each other, neither of us saying anything, but I’m willing to bet neither of us is sure what to say next.

  “And now she’s free,” he finally says, the words forced out.

  “What?”

  He pulls up his sleeve, reminding me of the tattoo he has on his forearm. He shoves it in front of me as he repeats, “And now she’s free.”

  “What?” I ask again, glancing down at the black ink.

  “My sister,” he says, staring at me. I nod, swallowing hard even though I don’t get where he’s going with this. “She died,” he continues. “I told you that much.”

  I nod again, not trusting myself to speak anymore.

  “People used to tell me that she was free now, that her pain was gone and she was free. But the only way she was able to be free was for her to die.”

  My eyes move to the ink on his forearm, watching as his fingers slide over the letters. It sends a flicker of electricity through my skin, as though it’s my arm he’s touching.

  “In order for Amy to be free,” he whispers.

  I blink hard; forcing away sudden tears that I don’t expect or understand as I finally get what he’s telling me. “Oh shit, Nick, I’m…” I stop, force myself to take a deep breat
h as I try to work out what I can possibly say to him right now.

  “The tattoo,” he continues, as though he’s not even listening to me. “The other one,” he adds, grabbing my hand and putting it against his chest where I know the three letters of her name are etched. “It’s for her. My sister.”

  His fingers are tight around my wrist, not quite hurting me, more like they’re trying to tell me something. I can feel his heart beneath my hand, hammering inside his chest, and I wonder if that’s what he really wants me to feel?

  “But the other girl?” I stammer. “The one who came into the bar…?”

  “Her best friend,” he whispers. “Also called Amy.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, my head falling as I realise how badly I really have misinterpreted this situation.

  “The Two Amys,” he says. “That’s what they always called themselves. Ever since we were five years old.”

  I close my eyes, unable to look at him and see all of the pain I’ve caused because of my stupid accusations. I don’t even know why I said any of the things I said that night. Why I assumed he was being that kind of guy. Why I pushed him away when he’d done nothing but be nice to me.

  “I wasn’t cheating on anyone,” he says, taking another step closer as his fingers around my wrist loosen slightly. “I’m not that kind of guy, Emma.”

  I don’t say anything, unable to speak. I can feel him staring at me though, his eyes burning their way into my brain as though he’s looking for more accusations.

  We stand in silence for so long I eventually have to look up, force myself to meet his stare. I don’t say anything at first, too tired to work out where I can possibly start. How I can even begin to apologise for my mistakes?

  Nick continues to stare at me, the hurt on his face now replaced with a different kind of pain and sadness, as though just telling me these things is enough to bring it all back for him.

  “I don’t know why I thought that about you,” I finally whisper. “I don’t know why...” Nick says nothing still, just continues to stare at me. “It was wrong of me, so wrong,” I continue, looking away now. “I don’t do…” I pause; unsure what word I can even use to describe whatever it is that’s going on here. “I don’t do…this, very well.”

  Nick stares at me for what feels like forever before he finally exhales hard and lets go of my wrist. He takes one last sip of his coffee before throwing it in the bin with mine. I stand here watching him, unsure where we go from here. Just when I think he’s going to leave, he steps towards me again, hesitant almost.

  “I’m here because I didn’t want to just let you go, Emma.”

  His words are a whisper, yet the way he speaks, the way his says my name, sounds so, so pleading almost.

  “I didn’t want to let you go with that idea about me, thinking that was who I was. It’s not and I would never do that,” he whispers. “I would never do that to you.”

  Something slams into me now, sending a jolt throughout my entire body. The coffee, only minutes ago so delicious and warm, now feels like bile in my stomach, churning and threatening to make an appearance all over the footpath.

  I open my mouth to speak, even though I have no idea what I’m going to say to him. He’s still staring at me, watching me with eyes that are so intense I’m not sure I could turn away, even if I wanted to.

  “Emma!”

  My name rings out and it’s enough to break the moment as I turn and see Jason walking towards me, waving. The whole moment feels surreal, and in an instant, I realise just how much I don’t want him to come over; that I don’t want him of all people to see me like this…this vulnerable. And it’s not just because he’s my boss either, that’s bad enough, but there was also a moment once, a long time ago, that will just make him coming over when Nick is here really, really awkward.

  I give Jason a quick wave before turning back to Nick. “Let’s go.”

  He gives me a confused look, but says nothing, just nods and falls silently into step beside me. We walk for blocks without saying a word to each other. I’m not sure which of us is leading the other, but we somehow end up in front of my apartment. I turn to face him, watch as he rocks nervously on his heels again, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on the ground. Now that we’re here, I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen next. Truth be told, I never expected him to come this far.

  “You, ahh…you want to come up?” I ask nervously.

  He looks up, surprised. “You want me to?”

  I nod, biting my lip because I have no idea what I’m even doing, let alone if I’m sure or if I want him to. The only thing I can think is that I’m so sleep deprived, I’m delirious. It’s the only rationale explanation for my irrational behaviour. But apparently it’s not that crazy, or maybe Nick’s sleep-deprived and delirious too because he nods once, watching as I swipe us in and walk towards the elevator.

  We ride up to the fourteenth floor in total silence, both of us staring silently up at the numbers as though we are counting them down, neither of us sure what will happen when we reach the end.

  The apartment is silent when we walk inside and I’m grateful. I’m not in the mood for questions from Owen.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, gesturing to the kitchen.

  Nick shakes his head, his eyes back on me now as I move nervously into the living room.

  “I um, I need to take a shower,” I say, pulling on my scrubs. I’ve been in them for nearly twenty hours now and I can’t imagine how shit I look.

  “Okay,” he says, finally speaking. I watch as he grabs his t-shirt, his fingers forming a fist around the material. It occurs to me then that he must need one too. He’s been up since he finished work.

  “You, ah…you want one too?” I stammer, gesturing towards him. My hand shakes in front of me and I immediately lower it, not wanting him to see how nervous I am.

  Nick swallows hard, cocking his head as he stares at me, and it’s only then I realise just how that sounded. I feel my cheeks heat as I look away. “I mean, afterwards…after, um, after me.”

  Nick clears his throat and when I turn back, I see the tiniest of smiles tugging on the corner of his mouth. I immediately head for Owen’s room, desperate to get away from him so he can’t see what he’s doing to me. What the hell am I even doing? I should be showering and going to bed, to sleep, alone. Not inviting guys I barely know into my house and offering them a shower.

  I knock once on Owen’s door, silently begging that he’s not home. There’s no answer and I push it quietly open, breathing a sigh of relief when I find his room empty. Rummaging through his drawers, I find some old track pants and a t-shirt. I skip the underwear drawer because that’s just too weird, before walking back into the living room.

  “My roommate’s,” I say, shoving the clothes into Nick’s arms. “They’re clean,” I add, walking towards my room. “Shower’s in here.”

  Nick says nothing, just follows me towards my room. This would have to be the first time in my life that I wish Owen and I didn’t have our own bathrooms. It’s weird enough that Nick is here at all, but it’s just gotten a whole lot weirder having him standing in my bedroom, the knowledge that he’s about to get very naked on the other side of the door.

  “Shower’s through there,” I say, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Some fresh towels in the cupboard. Help yourself.”

  Nick says nothing for so long that I have to look up, wondering if maybe he hasn’t somehow disappeared without me noticing. When I finally meet his stare, he smiles at me. A small, but genuine smile that I don’t know how to interpret.

  “You go first,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll wait out here.”

  ~ Nick

  I watch as Emma nods before disappearing into the bathroom. I hear the shower start to run and without even trying, images of her peeling off her scrubs immediately flood my brain. I picture her pale white skin, the dark freckle she has on her left shoulder that I couldn’t resist kissing in my
office that night.

  I’d noticed it as soon as she’d walked in and taken off her coat, her strapless dress exposing all of that skin. But my eyes had been drawn to the freckle, the only mark on her chest and shoulders. Even then, without ever uttering a single word, I’d wanted to press my mouth against it, taste her, kiss my way along her collarbone and up her neck to her mouth.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, running a hand through my hair.

  I can’t think about this shit now. Not while I’m standing in her bedroom and she’s standing naked under the shower, the two of us separated by little more than a single wooden door. I wonder if she’s locked it, if she doesn’t trust that I will wait. I’m tempted to try, to see if she does, but I don’t. I don’t want to scare her because I can see that she’s already skittish. On edge, maybe and wondering why the fuck she ever brought me back here.

  Even I don’t know why I’m here. All I know is I’ve spent the past four hours standing outside her work waiting for her to finish, hoping I wasn’t going to miss her. A part of me always worried how it would look when she came out, whether my waiting for her was going to do nothing but totally freak her out. But I knew I had to explain things to her, knew I had to tell her how wrong she’d gotten everything and that the Amy she met that night was not the Amy that was tattooed on my skin.

  That nothing was how she thought it was.

  The water continues to run and I know I need a distraction, anything to get my mind off her. I place the clothes she’s given me on a small stool by the door. I don’t need them because I don’t actually need a shower. I might not have slept much since I finally finished work last night, but I did at least shower. I wasn’t going to take the chance on finally being able to speak to her again and stink like a fucking brewery.

  So after Tony and I had talked, how I’d explained to him that I now knew where she worked, but hadn’t been able to reach her, I went back to my apartment and showered. I caught a couple of hours on the couch, tried calling one more time, this time explaining why I so badly needed to speak to her, and then I just went to the hospital where she worked, not knowing how the hell she was going to react when she saw me again.