by Amanda Day
There was a photo too. Not of Pan’s face, but her body. Her naked body. Her perfectly slim, tanned and toned naked body in fact.
I felt sick. Sick enough to think I was about to vomit down your back and onto your bike. Maybe I should have.
I stepped back and glared at you, then at the phone.
Your eyes narrowed for a minute, a tiny flinch, almost imperceptible, but I saw it. Then you slid your helmet on, started the engine, and roared away.
That goddam picture is going to haunt me for years.
The Beginning Of The End…
After that night, I knew it was only a matter of time before I lost you. I could feel the cracks in us becoming chasms. I didn’t know you anymore. I was desperately trying to hold on to you with my fingertips, hoping that at any time this new you would vanish and the old gorgeous you would return. Deep down though, I think I knew there was no hope. I started to wonder in the quiet moments whether this was really who you had been all along, and if the person I had gotten to know and love was always fake. A spider in its web, hiding, drawing me in until I was too entangled in your invisible thread that I couldn’t climb out. Was I another of your victims, just like Pan, under your spell?
I continued to ruminate on what broke us. I went over all the things I had said to you. I churned them over in my head until I felt dizzy. I couldn’t work out which part exactly had changed you.
I still called and text you. I thought that if I tried hard enough, if I made you laugh and smile, you’d come back to me. The old you. But for some reason, that person was gone and the new you stayed.
I called you on my break at college one Monday, I don’t know if you remember. I asked if you wanted to go to dinner that night to an Italian we loved. The little place with the tiny round wooden tables and the seats that made your ass go numb. Do you remember it? They always sat us at the back, like they knew we were a secret, and served us portions big enough to fill our bellies for a week. I thought if we did something together, something like we used to, you would remember and come back. You said yes, but it didn’t sound like you wanted to.
I picked you up at eight around the corner from your house, like I always did, because I still wasn’t allowed on the bike. I still had no helmet or leathers and I’m pretty sure you never intended for me to have any either. I know Pan had her own and that you took her shopping for them. I know because you told me, and it hurt to hear it. On the way to the restaurant, you only spoke when I asked you questions or talked about yourself. It was a one sided conversation that revolved around you. I waited for you to ask about my day, or college, or work even, but you didn’t. It was as if you didn’t care how my life was going. If you’d have asked I would have told you my day had been shit. I was failing my course because I was so unfocused. Work had piled on extra hours that I was struggling to keep up with, but I had accepted for the money. And I was tired and worn out from thinking about you all the goddamn time. I felt like everything was crumbling and you didn’t seem to notice. You never even asked. I, in the meantime, just kept asking you about things, silly things, just to hear you speak. To try and warm you up. To thaw you out.
In the restaurant, over a shared plate of spaghetti like we always did, you reverted back into your grumpy silence. I would catch you looking at me, really looking at me, like you had something to say, but when you saw me looking, you would just look away again. No words. No nothing.
Eventually I put my cutlery down. I had had enough. I was cracking like broken glass and you were doing nothing to stop it. If anything, you were just making it worse.
“Why did you bother coming?” I asked.
You shovelled a huge pile of food into your mouth and said, “What?”
“Here. Why did you come here with me? It’s obvious you didn’t want to.”
You shrugged and swallowed. There was sauce on your chin and I didn’t tell you. I wanted you to look stupid for once.
“Of course I wanted to,” you replied. It was so insincere I was offended.
“I don’t think so. Look at you. Your body language is so closed to me you may as well sit at the next table. You barely speak to me. Drew, if I am that bad, just don’t bother with me. Just leave me alone because I cannot take this for one more fucking second. I don’t know what I did to you but Jesus, either be happy to spend time with me or just don’t fucking bother.”
You practically threw your fork on the table and sat back in your chair, your arms crossed, tight and sulky. “I’m bored OK. I’m fucking bored of this.”
“Of me?”
“Of everything. Sneaking around. Having to keep everyone else happy. Everyone wanting a piece of me. I’m tired of it.”
“Drew, are you bored of me?” I wished I hadn’t asked to be honest, but I suppose I needed to hear the words.
You watched me, maybe trying to work out how I was going to react.
“Yes,” you said finally, with a sigh that was so deep it seemed to come from your bones. Your eyes softened and you really did look like the most tired man in the universe. “Yes, Mina, I am bored of you and whatever this is that we have been doing. It isn’t satisfying me anymore. It’s not your fault, Min, you’re a lovely girl and a very special person to me, I just get bored easily.”
You could have stabbed me in the face with your fork at the moment and it hurt less than your words. I sat there, fuming, with my heart breaking all at once, which can make you feel pretty discombobulated actually. I didn’t know whether to speak, or aim for a dignified silence. Whether to stay or leave. Whether to hurt you, or cry.
Everything was such a fucking mess.
I folded up my napkin, trying so hard to stop my hands shaking. I was going to cry, I knew that much. I was probably going to cry so much that my tears would eventually turn to blood. But not in front of you. I was determined to not give you that satisfaction. You had my heart already, you would not have my pain too.
“Why did you do this to me, Drew?”
You were pale and looked like you felt sick. For a second I found myself thinking, good you motherfucker. I hope you choke on it.
You swallowed and said, “Do what?”
“Why did you single me out and spend time with me? Why did you make me feel so special and amazing? Why did you come into my life and let me fall in love with you, if you knew all along you were going to get bored of me?”
You shrugged. “I liked you, Mina. You’re special.”
“Not special enough.” As I said it, I felt my chin wobble. I had about five seconds before I literally exploded into tears. “Thanks, Drew. Thanks for being everything I hoped you weren’t.” I stood up and grabbed my bag. I didn’t care about the bill or that you had no way to get home, I just needed to get away from you.
“Min, don’t just storm off.” You caught my hand as I marched past you. “It’s not a big deal.”
I couldn’t hold it back then. I was too far gone. Too far down the dark tunnel that was about to take me months to climb back out of. I didn’t want your skin on mine. I didn’t even want to share air with you.
“Not a big deal?” Tears were cascading down my cheeks; later I would find mascara tracks on my face that I didn’t wash off for two days. I left them there, like debris from a blast. “You just broke my fucking heart into tiny pieces, Drew. Fuck you. Fuck you all the way to hell.”
And I left. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to see your face. I knew that if you looked hurt or upset, I might have waivered. I prayed you wouldn’t follow me, because I couldn’t take it. I was too weak, maybe that was the problem from the start.
I ran to my car, started it and drove away, not able to see because my eyes were overflowing. I was probably swerving all over the road, I don’t remember. I don’t remember any of the drive home.
What I do remember is my mum finding me in my car outside at four am, still crying. Crying so hard my throat was raw. It was sore for two weeks afterwards. I remember her taking the keys from the ignition and helpi
ng me. She put me in my bed, fully clothed, and stroked my hair. She made me hot sweet tea that I never touched. I don’t remember what she said to me or what I said to her because everything was muted except the raw pain that was ripping me apart inside. My stomach ached so much all I could do was curl in a ball. My eyes burnt. My hands ached from being clenched into such tight fists. I felt like my brain was collapsing in on itself as I pushed my face deeper and deeper into my pillows, hoping to bury myself alive.
I think my mum stayed with me until the sun rose, stroking my hair. I have never felt pain like it, and I hope I never do again. And the worst part is that you didn’t deserve even a single tear, you asshole, but you got ten thousand.
Three Months Ago…
The Bottom Of Hell…
That’s where I was. The Bottom of Hell. I was drowning in fire which burnt me constantly, and I didn’t know how to get out. I don’t remember the first week after that night very well. It was spent sleepless and feverish. My skin was hot, but I felt cold. I couldn’t eat because I felt so sick. My stomach churned all the time, matching the rate of my thoughts. Everything around me was rolling and moving, with me stuck in the middle, drowning drowning drowning.
I stayed at home mostly. I just sort of stared at the TV or at the ceiling when I lay in bed. I wanted to think it all over. Work it out. I only wanted to do things that were pretty mindless in order to give my brain space to think about you. I pictured you and us. I thought about you over and over in a loop, wondering what you were doing, did you miss me? Were you thinking about me? Were you suffering like I was? I wanted you to be. I wanted you to feel as sick as I did. But I knew you didn’t. Deep down I knew you were fine, carrying on like you always did. Perhaps even moving on to someone else. I hated to think it, it made everything so much worse, but I wondered if I was even the only one, or was I one of many that you strung along, keeping you entertained until your attention span had worn thin and you cast them aside. How many other girls had sat there like me, empty and vacant, aching for something from you – a call, a text - anything just to fill the painful void left by your absence.
My mum tried to get me to see the doctor but I told her I wasn’t sick. By the second week she called him to come to me. They whispered after I had answered his seemingly endless questions. I heard the word depression, but didn’t have the energy to argue. Let them talk, I thought. I have nothing to say anyway.
I found your words echoing around my head. They popped in unexpected and uninvited, good and bad. The good ones made me miss you even more, the bad made my eyes sting:
You’re so beautiful Min.
Your eyes are the prettiest thing I have seen all day.
I could kiss you for a thousand years.
When I got home my t-shirt smelled of you and I had to take it off because it was making me miss you.
Let’s stay the whole night together.
You belong in my arm, look how perfectly you fit.
Everything is better when I’m with you, Min.
The list goes on and on. They were hard enough to remember, but the others were worse:
I’m not as nice as you think I am.
You’re so needy.
Artists are such hard work.
Never give one hundred percent of yourself to someone, it gives them too much power.
I can’t imagine finding anyone better than Pan.
I might as well stick with what I’ve got.
Letting someone in is painful because they will fuck you over in the end.
I’m fucking bored of this.
You’re a very special person to me.
Round and round they went until I thought I was going insane. They popped up when I was in the bath, when I was cooking dinner, mid-conversation with other people. They, like you, had no respect and just showed up unannounced to hurt me over and over. It was during this time I was convinced I would never feel better. The ache in my stomach would never subside and I would never be free of you. I was worried that not only was I cracking up, but that I would never be OK again. I was worried I would never think like a normal person again or have thoughts that were not completely absorbed by you. I was afraid I had lost me. I was the most unfocused I ever remember being. I couldn’t concentrate on a single thing. My mum had to tell college and Pizza Planet that I had glandular fever to buy me some time out of my life.
In the past, when I have had troubles, I have always used art to feel better. I have drawn and painted and sketched my way to a better place, but this time I couldn’t do it. Even looking at my paints made me squint. It hurt my mind to contemplate colour. I wanted to live in a soft cushioned world of black and white with nothing to assault my senses because I just wasn’t strong enough. I needed to be wrapped in pure white cotton wool and put in a dark room for a while.
In the really bad moments, and there were many, I would text you. I missed you so much I could barely breathe. At its worst, all I wanted was a single text from you. Just one word. Like a hit of heroin for a junkie, I craved it with every cell in my body. I thought that if just one single text from you beeped into my phone it would save me. It would release all the tension I had inside and make everything better. Every ounce of pain I was going through was your fault, but I was willing to overlook it because I just wanted you back. I hated the void you had left in my life. I tried reaching out to you because I wanted to hear your voice or read your words. I wanted to see a bold unread text from you on my phone more than anything else. I checked it constantly, obsessively even, worried that I might miss it beeping and in that moment miss you. If you reached out to me, I didn’t want to miss it. I wouldn’t risk it. I was almost glued to that phone. I sent you messages like, I miss you. I miss your voice. Are you OK? Are you alive? Can we talk? This is killing me. I just want you, nothing else. Just you. Please forgive me.
It must have been obvious to you that I was suffering, but all you gave me in return was silence. An empty phone can say so much, and be really, really hurtful. I knew my messages to you must have sounded desperate, and they were. I guess they must have added weight to your opinion that I was needy, but I didn’t care. I just missed you so damn much I would have done anything, literally anything, to have you back in my life and my phone. Beeping in my pocket, laughing in my ear.
But all I got was silence.
I was so lonely I could almost feel your absence on my skin.
The First Rung Of The Ladder…
I spent hours wondering why. It went in yet another loop in my head: What. When. Why. I spent hours trying to figure it all out. I wanted to pinpoint the exact moment it all went wrong to see if I could have stopped it. Was it a look? A word? A kiss? Could I have made a difference or was it really as simple as you just get bored easy, like you said? I wish you had told me that at the start, it would have saved me an awful lot of trouble.
I also spent some time wondering why Pan? Why doesn’t she get the silent treatment? Why aren’t you bored of her too? Then I realised maybe you were, but you were just too afraid to be on your own. You seemed like that sort of person; the sort of person who always wants someone around because they are afraid to sit in the silence and confront themselves. Why hadn’t I seen that sooner?
You were the first thing I thought of in the morning, and the last thing at night. To be honest, it had been that way since we first spoke. At first, I wondered what you looked like. Then we met and I wondered what you would say next. Then I imagined us kissing and holding hands. Then I started to imagine what it would be like to be with you, naked against your body.
Looking back, Drew, I am beyond glad we never went that far. I can imagine you now, still wondering how I could love you without even sleeping with you. That just goes to show what a dumbass you are. Love isn’t about sex. Love is not something you put your dick into; it’s something you put your heart in. I don’t know if you would understand that though.
You tried a few times to get me to sleep with you, and I let you get a little furth
er than I would have liked, but I knew while you were with Pan I was never going to go all the way. I never told you that though, I was worried that if I told you I wasn’t going to sleep with you, you would lose interest, and I didn’t want to risk that. I feel so stupid now because so many signs of who you were, were there all along. I just chose to ignore them.
Mea culpa.
Anyway, at night I found myself picturing you coming to my house. I would open the door and you would hold out your arm to me, like you always did, and I would climb inside. Then you would stroke my hair and tell me you did love me. That it was all a mistake. That was the thought that I feel asleep to every night for a month, and every morning I would wake up feeling just as awful as the day before.
During that time, I saw things that reminded me of you constantly. When I finally ventured back out into the world I tried to avoid the places that reminded me of you. I would drive the long way around to miss the places we had walked or talked or kissed. I changed the text alert on my phone because every time it sounded it made me hope it was you. Of course it wasn’t and all that false hope just hurt more. I assigned your number to my old sound and everyone else a new one, that way I would know when it was you and my heart wouldn’t leap every time unnecessarily, because I swear it was giving me actual heart damage.
I needn’t have bothered. You never text anyway.
I started to try and carry on with life. I knew it was inevitable that I had to try at some point. It was hard because you still filled my mind and I was lost in my own head all the time. I felt like I was only vaguely present; like I was a ghost of a person loitering on the edge of a life I had once loved. I realised I had been a ghost since we had met.
God, I was so lost in myself and convinced only you had the map to save me. In the end though, I managed to save myself.
Two Months Ago…
