by Amanda Day
You watched me and my words as if I were a documentary on a foreign species. A slight frown creased your head.
“What art are you going to make?”
I shrugged as best I could tucked so close to you.
“I am either going to make clay sculptures of things. Massive things. Or paper models. Tiny models. Big or tiny. I haven’t decided which I prefer yet.”
You burst into laughter. Proper belly laughter that shook us both.
You leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Pan would struggle to understand you.”
“Who’s Pan,” I asked, smiling. Your sister? Aunt? Mum? You were exactly the right amount of cool to be one of those people who call their parents by their first names.
“My girlfriend. You would spin her out over the edge.”
I think my blood froze in my veins. Literally froze and stopped reaching my heart, because for a second I couldn’t move.
“Girlfriend?” My voice sounded tiny and far away.
You shrugged and stroked my arm again, but this time I didn’t feel it. I was briefly numb.
“Yeah. Pan.”
I sat up. Maybe the movement kick started my heart because everything rushed back at once. My head pounded, my cheeks burnt, my stomach churned.
“You have a girlfriend?”
You looked at me oddly. “Yeah.”
I stared at you, confused as to why you didn’t seem to understand the significance of this news. “You never told me that. Not once.”
“It’s not a big deal, babe. Me and her aren’t close.”
You said it so easily.
“But she’s still your girlfriend. Don’t you think that should have come up in our, I don’t know, one thousand conversations? Or the fifty something times we have met?”
You shrugged again and sat up, tilting your head to one side, eyes squinted.
“How long have you been together?” I asked.
“Two years, on and off.”
“Two years?” I was nearly shouting now. Furious, I grabbed my shoes and got up, stomping across the grass and away from you.
I heard the grass crushing behind me as you ran to catch up.
“Min.”
I ignored you.
“Mina.” Louder this time.
Then you grabbed my wrist and spun me to face you.
“Just stop will you.”
Your eyes had that weird lost look in them again. They might even have been a bit sad, I wasn’t entirely sure. Whatever it was, it was enough to make me stop and listen.
“When I met Pan, I was lonely. She was pretty, she’s not bright and doesn’t talk that much. It’s easy to be around her, but not really have to get involved with her, you know?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“She’s company when I’m lonely. She cooks nice dinners. She cleans the flat. She looks after me and she cares about me. It’s nice. It’s nice to know someone is going to be there when I get home. She’s more like a friend or a sister than anything else. Besides, her family live in Canada and she’d have nowhere else to go if I threw her out. What am I supposed to do? She’s been good to me. I’m used to her.”
I couldn’t entirely believe the actual words coming out of your mouth. Your face told me that you thought your skewed logic was completely justified.
“Do you sleep with her?” I heard myself asking. I didn’t even know I was going to, the words just sort of fell out of my face. I probably didn’t even have the right to ask.
You watched me for a second and I knew you were contemplating lying. I knew if you said no I would definitely walk away.
“Sometimes,” you replied. “Not like we used to. But sometimes.”
I nodded and rubbed my arms; I felt a chill even though the sun was bright.
I dropped my shoes and wriggled my feet into them. “I should go.”
You caught my hand and held it against your chest, over your heart.
“Please stay a little longer. I don’t want you to go yet. I hate it when we say goodbye.”
My stomach ached at your words and tears heated up behind my eyes. I felt so betrayed.
“You should have told me, Drew.” As I said the words, I felt myself faltering. Despite everything you had just told me, I didn’t want to go. Not really. I wanted to go back ten minutes and be blissfully ignorant again. Ignorance can be underrated it seems. I wanted to be close to you. I didn’t want to walk away.
“You never asked, you know, babe,” you said softly.
“About what?”
“If I had girlfriend. If you had asked, I would have told you. Straight up.”
I chewed my bottom lip and found myself wondering if you had a point. I never had asked. I just assumed that you, like I, were single. The way you spoke to me. The way you flirted on the phone and, once we’d met, held me so openly. I’d assumed taken men didn’t do that. Apart from you, apparently.
And, I supposed to myself, you said you didn’t love her. Not really. Not properly.
What a dickhead I was.
But that’s the thing; love really does make you blind. You can be so utterly consumed by someone that you just don’t think straight. You don’t see properly. Even when something literally punches you in the face, you can still miss it.
“How would she feel about us?” I asked, taking a step closer to you. I just wanted you to hug me and pretend like it was all fine.
You shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe she wouldn’t care.”
And I believed you. I think I let myself believe you because I wanted it to be true. Like a sister, was all I repeated to myself. It became my mantra: Doesn’t love her. Like his sister.
What bullshit.
“Want a coffee?” you asked, your forehead crinkled and your eyes hopeful. You clutched my hand like a lifeline.
I closed my eyes and nodded. I was disappointed in myself for not being stronger. For not being better. For betraying the sisterhood. My sisterhood. I also felt powerless to stop it.
When I opened them, you wore your cocky smirk, like you’d known I would crumble all along.
You led me to a Starbucks, talking about nothing and everything, as if five minutes before had never happened. Every so often I would speak, but really I was stuck in my own head, churning it all over. Wishing it away. By the time I had ordered my cappuccino I had decided if I ignored it, perhaps it didn’t really exist.
Like I said, love makes you blind. And a fucking idiot.
No More I Love Yous…
Do you remember the first time I said I loved you? I do. You know why I remember so vividly? Because you never said it back. I think you thought you had been smart enough to gloss over your silence, but of course I noticed it. I noticed it like I would have noticed being stabbed in the eye with a blunt spoon.
It was weeks after the Pandora revelation. You had told me later than Pan was short for Pandora. When I’d asked what kind of name Pan was. You also said it was the kind of name rich parents give their kids. I asked what she did. You casually said she was a model and that her parents were loaded. I was starting to understand dense – your word, not mind - Pan’s appeal.
We were sitting in the back of a pub, having dinner, hiding like lovers, which we weren’t. Since that day in the park we hadn’t even kissed again. Sometimes you looked like you wanted to, but you didn’t try. Maybe you could read it on my face that I wasn’t sure. The problem was I wanted you. I wanted every single part of you and I wanted you for keeps, but you never said you wanted me back. You held my hand and stroked my hair, kept me right next to you. We talked every day, either on the phone or by text if you were at home with Pan. I struggled to go a single hour without contact with you, and I definitely didn’t make it past one minute without thinking of you. But you never said it was the same for you. I tried reading you. I tried working it out. But you never said. I was afraid to come out and ask how you felt about me, what we were doing, where we were heading, just in case I didn’t like your
answer. I was in too deep and I knew it. I was drowning and I didn’t want to be pulled out.
You chuckled and said, “She has a terrible temper. She’s really calm and mild mannered, than something gets to her and she just flips in a second. It’s really funny.”
“You like it?”
You stretched your arms over your head, then put one around my shoulders while pulling my legs into your lap with the other.
“I used to. I used to find it hot. She’s so fiery when she is angry. I would wind her up just to flip her out because it was a turn on.”
You said it with a smile, but I wasn’t laughing. Instead I was looking at you, trying to put together the sweet, funny and thoughtful affectionate Drew I knew, with someone who pushes someone’s buttons for their own amusement and because they get off on it.
“Are you sure you don’t love her anymore?” I asked again. I was becoming a little obsessed about your relationship, trying to read into something I barely knew anything about.
“Not really, no.”
I sighed and repeated, “Not really.” Two words can make you miserable. Two more can give you hope.
“Not now.”
You reached out and tipped my chin up to face you.
“Don’t let it bother you,” you said. “It means nothing. It is just company. Having someone around. We don’t connect. Not like us.”
I looked into your eyes and wondered if it was wise to say what was on my mind. We hadn’t been the sort to talk feelings much, not about each other anyway. I didn’t know what the rules were, or if there were even any rules at all.
I decided that life is either a gamble or a safe ride. I wanted to gamble. I had too many feelings floating around and I wanted to let them out. I wanted you to know how I felt about you. I wanted you to tell me in return. I wanted you to feel the same.
“What about us?” I said. My voice was a bit shaky and I felt my cheeks flush because I was embarrassed.
What a twat, to be ashamed of my own feelings for someone. You should be proud of love. Everyone should, because it is a beautiful thing and a privilege to experience. If someone is worth it, you shout it from the roof of every building in town. Maybe I was embarrassed because I knew deep down that you weren’t worth it. Not really.
“What about us?” you repeated, seeming confused.
I didn’t understand what you were confused about.
“You stay with Pan because she is company and stops you being lonely, but what about me? What about what we’re doing here? This?” I pointed to us. “Am I not company? Do I not stop you being lonely? We talk all the time and are pretty much in constant contact anyway. Why don’t we try this properly? You could tell Pan how you really feel about her, then we are free to try being together. No more sneaking around. Just us.” I squeezed your leg and smiled. “I love you, Drew. I want to be with you. I hate being without you. I hate it when we don’t talk or when we can’t see each other. I want you to be part of my life, officially and properly.”
You looked at me, deep into my eyes, and maybe this time it was me that was full of hope. Or stupidity. Maybe both. I hate reliving this moment. It makes me feel sick.
You squeezed my legs, wrapped your arms around me and said, “Let’s stay together tonight. Let’s just get a room somewhere and stay together all night. Side by side.”
My heart was hammering. You hadn’t said you loved me back. You hadn’t said you wanted to be with me or that yes, you would tell Pan and we could try it. Everything I needed was absent. But, you smiled and held me close and wanted to spend the night together, surely that meant something, didn’t it? I told myself it said all the things I wanted to hear, because you don’t want to cuddle up with someone for a whole night unless you care, do you? Unless you want to share your bed, and your heart, with them?
I told myself it was more than an answer. It was more than enough.
It wasn’t.
If I’d Known…..
If I’d known it was the last time I would see you or speak to you properly, then I would have done things differently. I wouldn’t have let myself fall asleep. I would have said things that were important. That mattered more. I would have tried to fix whatever I had caused to break in you.
But I didn’t know and I can’t take it back. Any of it. I have had to remind myself of that quite a lot over these past few months: What’s done is done.
You took me to a hotel on the other side of town. It was sleek with a black front and an unmarked door. I felt very out of place in my flared jeans with the ragged hems, flip-flops and camisole top. I didn’t even straighten my hair because I didn’t know we would be going somewhere so fancy. Instead I’d worn it loose in a braid over my shoulder with wisps that I had deliberately worked loose to look cute and summery. Like I’d been playing Frisbee on the beach all day. You, however, always looked good. Your jeans were dark and tidy. Your t-shirts designer. The sunglasses that poked out of the neck were always expensive. Your leather jacket, no matter the weather, was a permanent fixture. You never took me on your bike because I didn’t have my own leathers. Once you even said you would buy me some. I’d grinned like an idiot because it felt like an offering to make me a part of your world. Of course the jacket never came, and neither did the things it could have symbolised.
I asked you once how you afforded so many nice things on your apprentice salary. You shrugged and said your parents bought you guilt presents.
“Guilt for what?” I asked.
“Not loving me enough.”
Your response was short and you said it like it didn’t matter, but I saw the tightening around your eyes. It did matter, but in your typical style you pretended like you didn’t care. Like emotions were a foreign concept to you. Since then, in the times when I wondered whether you really were made of ice, I think of that moment and remember that you do feel. You just work hard not to show it.
The way you walked into the hotel made me sure you knew it and were familiar with its expensive ways. I just trailed in your wake, hoping some of your cool apathy about how amazing it was would rub off on me. It didn’t. I openly gaped at how beautiful the chandelier was. How expensive the front desk was. How spotlessly clean everything was. How far removed from my own life I felt.
Thinking back now, I never fitted. With you. Your aloofness. Your utter coolness; the bike, the clothes, the attitude. The hotel. Lying and deceiving your girlfriend. Your drive to succeed and prove a point. Taking pleasure in manipulating others. But I wanted to despite myself. I just wanted to fit to be with you.
Our room was beautiful. A suite that might be bigger than any house I will ever own. Sofas and tables and golden lamps. A gigantic bed with soft gold and purple covers. Velvety pillows. A bath I could do laps in. Chrome and luxurious. It was simply amazing. I had never stayed anywhere like that before.
You had been quiet after we left the pub. I spent the whole time wishing I had kept my mouth shut. I suspected I had upset you by telling you how I felt, but I was pretty confused because it had been your idea to go to the hotel. If you were unhappy with me, surely you wouldn’t have wanted to spend the night with me. That’s what I told myself anyway.
We spent the night talking and snuggled up as close as we could get on the bed, entwined together. About two am your phone started beeping and ringing. You wordlessly put it on silent and face down on the dresser. I knew it was Pan, but I never said anything. I finally had you to myself for an entire night and I didn’t want to share you with even a thought of your real life. I had openly said I wanted you. I wanted you to leave her and be with me. You never said yes, but then you never said no either. I naively hoped you might be thinking about it. I hoped that was what the night was about; you assessing if we could work. Could we be together?
The problem was I loved you but wasn’t sure we could stand still together. All we knew were snatched moments. Impermanence.
You held me tight, turning your head to kiss my hair from time to time. You stroked my s
kin and murmured into my ear how special I was. You said I was different to everyone else. That I was soft and unspoilt, whatever that meant. It all seems so sad looking back, because I didn’t understand what was happening. I was in way over my head.
At the time I tried to make light of it and said, “Yeah, cut me open and I’ll bleed rainbows and glitter.”
You laughed and kissed my forehead again.
I wanted you to play the game. “What would you bleed?” I asked.
Your smile disappeared and you frowned. “Just blood, I guess.”
I left you alone then, understanding this was a night for quietness, not silly word games or making up songs, like we usually did. Instead, I got even closer and tried to stay very still. I felt like I was trying not to scare off a timid animal.
In return, you held on to me like our world was ending.
I guess it was.
Four Months Ago…
Is It Just Me?…
We woke up in the hotel, had breakfast together in our room, sharing food and laughing at stupid things. It was like the night before hadn’t happened. I hadn’t said I loved you. You hadn’t been weird and quiet. You hadn’t clung to me all night long. We were just us. Normal. It was fun.
We checked out and you walked me home. I don’t know where your bike was, I never asked. I never asked how you were getting home or any of that kind of stuff. These silly details only occurred to me later on.
You walked me to my door, holding my hand like always. Your cocky stride was back, your annoyingly arrogant smirk played on your face as you joked about spending the night with me and being the best I ever had.
I punched your arm and told you I knew you would be the perfect gentleman, which you were.
