Under My Skin

by A. E. Dooland

  There were tears in my eyes, too, but I wasn't laughing. I wasn't hugging him, and I wasn't saying yes. I was just staring down at a stunning solitaire diamond and feeling empty. The text he'd had embossed on the inside of the box... It read, 'to my best friend and soulmate: will you be my wife?'.

  I could hardly see it, I was crying so much. “A Frost Diamond...”

  In my peripheral vision, I could see him nod. “So if things changed and we left Frost, it would remind us of how we met.”

  I looked down at the diamond for a moment, and then closed the box and passed it back to him.

  He shook his head and pushed it back towards me. “What am I going to do with it? Keep it.”

  I frowned. “Return it,” I said. “That's got to be at least twenty-five thousand dollars right there.”

  He didn't change his mind. “27,” he said. “And I need the dignity of not having to return it more than I need the money. Keep it, or sell it, or do whatever you want with it. It was always for you anyway.”

  I could tell he wasn't going to budge on that one, so I put it in the pocket of my jeans and felt it dig uncomfortably into my leg.

  “I've been carrying it with me every day for the past few months,” he confessed. “Just in case the time was right. I wanted to have it on me so I didn't ever miss the opportunity.”

  Something occurred to me. “Wait, at work, too?” he nodded. “Did Sean know?”

  He turned at looked directly at me. “Why?” he asked flatly. “Did that fuck tell you?”

  I winced. “He told Bree.”

  Henry's eyes were narrowed. He took a moment to process that. “And he knew about you two as well?” I probably looked as guilty as I felt, and Henry sat heavily back in his chair, shaking his head quite aggressively. “Fuck that man,” he said. “Frost is divided on what they think 'Mini' did to piss him off, but whatever it was, good on you.” His jaw was set. “That fuck just cannot help himself when it comes to the joy it gives him to ruin relationships.”

  “He didn't really ruin our relationship,” I said. “I did that.”

  Henry looked back at me, and I could tell he was trying to decide if he wanted to continue or not. In the end, he decided to. “Just before lunch today, I got a quick call from Sean to say he had a few reports he wanted me to look at, but he couldn't get to his office because he was reviewing something with the security personnel. So I went all the way down to ground floor and into that security room to get a stack of printouts from him. When I got there he didn't give anything to me, he just stood and talked about his wife and his kids and a whole host of other things I really don't care about right now, and that's when I realised that some footage that had been looping directly next to his head wasn't random. It was two people kissing out the front of the building. I recognised Bree first because of the angle, and then I realised that the other person was you.”

  My mouth opened. That explained why he hadn't been surprised to see how I looked. Fuck. “I'm sorry,” I said. “Even though I kind of know that's a poor substitute for not doing fucked up shit in the first place.”

  “You did do the wrong thing,” he finally acknowledged, “but Sean Frost cashed in on it because he's a psychopathic bastard. You didn't do any of that with the intention of hurting me. He did.” I watched him practically foam at the mouth with how angry he was.

  “So,” I said, pretending to be deathly serious, “I have a business proposition for you.” He listened as I continued, “Since money isn't a problem for you and it's about to be for me, if you give me a hundred grand I'll take him out and make it look like an accident.”

  Henry was squinting at me. “You see, I know you're joking, but I still want you to do it,” he said in the same tone I'd spoken in. “Tell me, do you take cheque?”

  We laughed a bit over that, and then ended up gazing across at each other again. We've broken up, I thought, remembering that and feeling crap all over again.

  He was thinking the same thing, and his eyes shone with tears. “I don't know how I'm going to get through this,” he said eventually. “I'm going to miss you, Min.”

  My stomach dropped. “We can't stay friends?”

  “I don't know,” he said honestly. “It might be too painful for me.”

  That made me feel like I was going to cry again, and he saw it, reached between us and put a hand on my shoulder. “Can we just sit here and talk for a bit now, though?” he asked, his voice breaking a little. “You know me so well, and I'm not going to have that again with someone for a long time.”

  I smiled at him and nodded, and as we let go of 'us' and all the dreams and plans we'd shared, we sat side-by-side on my balcony together for the last time.

  THIRTY-TWO

  It was nearly midnight when Henry left my place. I’d made the mistake of offering him some of my red, and despite the fact he was normally a very moderate drinker he did the full bottle in about an hour. That didn’t really change anything except the fact that when he got up to leave he needed to transport himself along surfaces to get to the door. I followed him at a safe distance, and then caught him when he tripped over my shoes in the hallway. He was much more solid than I was and I nearly went over with him, but we somehow managed not to fall in a heap.

  “I think I may have drunk a little too much,” he observed mildly as we stood back up.

  I didn't let go of him straight away, because I was worried he'd just fall over again. It was difficult for me to see him like this. “I'm still good,” I told him. “I'll drive you home.”

  He shook his head. “You're too tired. I'll just grab a taxi.” He was probably right, so I didn't argue the point.

  We stood there for a moment, arms awkwardly around each other. He didn't look at me.

  “So this is it,” he said eventually. “This is goodbye.”

  That word felt like a punch in the stomach. “I hope we can stay friends,” I said quietly. “You know, when you're ready to.”

  He still didn't look up at me. “Me too,” he said. “It's just in those situations someone usually gets hurt, so even though I want to...” He let the sentence trail off.

  “Then I hope it's me,” I told him. “I'll deal with it. I probably deserve it, anyway.”

  He didn't look like he agreed with me. Another silence fell between us.

  He spent a while grappling with what he was going to say before he spoke again. “Listen, Min, I have a really big favour to ask,” he began, looking up at me. His eyes were still bloodshot. “Can you… not tell your mum straight away? I know she’s going to call me repeatedly and try and get me to change your mind when she finds out.” He looked pained. “And as long as I wish I could change your mind, I just can’t deal with that. I need some time.”

  I hadn’t been planning on telling her immediately. There was absolutely no part of any of the changes I was making that she would ever, ever accept.

  I nodded. “I don't really know what to say to her, anyway.”

  He smiled faintly. “Thank you. I'm sorry. I know it's wrong of me to try and control who you do and don't tell now that you feel like you're able to—”

  “—yeah, and how dare you ever ask for anything from anyone? After all the things you do for other people?” I finished with a grin. “You selfish bastard!”

  He laughed a bit at that, and when he looked up at me there was such affection in his eyes. It might have been because he was drunk, or he might have done it anyway, but before he'd second-guessed himself, he leant in and kissed me. He froze immediately, probably expecting me to push him away. I should have, but I didn't. This was the last time he'd get to do it, and honestly? It was Henry. I wasn't attracted to him, but kissing him was okay.

  When he inhaled and stepped in against me, though, I did push him gently away. I didn't want to lead him on.

  He staggered back, his hand flying up to his mouth. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Sorry, I was... Fuck, I'm drunk,” was how he finished that thought off. “Fuck. Well, at least
that's a very clear illustration of why I need some time without you.” This time he did reach for the door, bright red and looking really embarrassed.

  “It's okay,” I said, helping him open it.

  He didn't say anything else. We did hug again, probably for too long, and then he turned and walked haphazardly down the corridor towards the lift. Like I had Bree, I watched him leave through the peephole. He didn't give me a little cheerful wave from the lift like she had, though. His face just crumpled again as the doors closed with the finality of leaving here for the last time. He was wiping away tears as he disappeared.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, resting against the door. Nothing prepared you for what it felt like to cause someone you loved that much pain. And knowing he was going home to an empty house... I hated the thought of him crying alone. It wasn't my business anymore, though.

  When I went back into the living room, the empty wine bottle was still on the kitchen table.

  We'd sat at that table so many times together, eating, chatting, drinking. This apartment whole was full of memories of him, everywhere I looked. There were even pictures of us all over the place. We'd played all my games together. We'd watched all my movies together. I almost expected to look into the kitchen and see him doing the dishes while he hummed to himself, grinning at me over the counter when he noticed me watching.

  It was so weird to know that that part of my life was over. It was such a disorienting, empty feeling. He'd always been here, and he'd never be here again.

  I hadn't been there very long—maybe five minutes—when the front door opened again and startled me.

  “Uh, Min?” that was Henry's voice. Had he forgotten something?

  I spun in place to see him standing in the open door, and I was about to ask what was going on when I saw who was standing half-behind him: Bree.

  She had a really guilty expression on her face.

  “Delivery for you,” he said simply. “And, actually, that reminds me...” He held something out towards me and I accepted it from him; it was a keycard to my apartment. He didn't wait around after I'd taken it, he just nodded at us and then laboured back down the hallway in an impressively straight line for how drunk I knew he was.

  “Henry!” I called after him. “Henry, wait!” He didn't answer, he just got in the lift again and left. I put my head in my hands for a moment and groaned. “Fuck!”

  Bree at least looked really apologetic. “I'm sorry,” she said, sounding it, too. “I thought he'd probably be gone by now or I wouldn't have been banging on the front doors when they wouldn't open. I would have waited.”

  “You need a keycard to get into the hotel after twelve,” I told her, exasperated, “which I've given you!”

  She shrunk. “I know, but I put it somewhere and now I don't know where it is.”

  I sighed heavily at her. “Come on,” I said, and stood aside so she could walk into my hallway. I wanted to text Henry to apologise, but I wasn't sure it was appropriate. Fuck.

  She took off her shoes by the door, still looking really guilty. “I kind of don't want to ask, but you broke up with him, didn't you?” she said, asking me anyway. “I mean, he was crying when he came out of the hotel. Or, like, he was trying not to let me see that he was, so I guess you did it?”

  Henry crying... “Bree,” I said, trying to imagine how it must have felt for him to come across her, looking like that. “Yeah, I did it. Which is why you're the last person on the planet he should ever have bumped into on the way out. Fuck. How could you let that happen?”

  Her face was still stuck in a grimace. “I didn't let it happen! When I saw it was him, I ran off so he wouldn't feel like he had to force himself to be nice to me. I even hid in the laneway down there with all the skip bins, but he followed me down there and he found me. And then he insisted on taking me upstairs.”

  A tiny laneway in the middle of the night? I would have followed her and escorted her back, too.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm sorry, Min, it was an accident. You know I'd never do anything to—”

  I hugged her, because there was really nothing else to do with her. When she tried to speak again I pushed her face into my middle to smother it. “Yeah, I know.”

  It was only when I went to stroke her hair that it occurred to me that her hair was actually curly again and not frizzy like it had been when she'd left. She was also wearing a different dress and different socks, and that suggested she'd been home and had a shower.

  “You did go home,” I observed as I released her. “But you're back. Did it go badly with Andrej?”

  Her eyes were veiled for a moment. “It didn't go at all with him,” she began. “I went home and told Mum and Dad what happened and we all waited for him to come home, but he didn't. Dad even got into the car and went looking for him. But he's nowhere. It's so typical. Of course he wouldn't come home, would he? I was sitting there on the edge of my bed for hours, waiting for him to come back so I could finally hear Dad scream at him for what he's done.”

  I stroked her hair. “And he didn't come back.”

  She exhaled. “And he didn't fucking come back. He never has to face any of the stuff he does, it's not fair.” She leant against me miserably. “And I couldn't sleep because I was really angry at him and because I had this thought like, 'what if Min's breakup with Henry went really badly and she's just lying at home crying and there's no one to comfort her?'. So I came back.”

  I kissed the top of her head. “I'm okay.”

  She nodded, and looked comforted by that. “I'm so tired,” she said, exhaling. “Can we just go and cuddle in bed? I didn't sleep much last night because after Andrej stole your stuff I was really fucking angry at him and worried you'd never talk to me again, so I'm wrecked.”

  I hadn't slept much last night either, so it didn't take a lot of convincing to get me to agree to that one. Since my bed still had glass on it, though, we ended up on the couch. Bree had high hopes of being my little spoon, but I needed to be on my back because I wasn't wearing the binder and it was the only way I felt flat. She ended up snuggled up against my side with her head on my shoulder and wrists curled under her chin. She was wearing one of my old t-shirts, too, so when she had her knee bent across me, I knew it was bare. It was pleasant to think about what was at the top of it, but I was too tired to do anything and so was she.

  It was comforting to have her there, though, and she was warm. I worried a bit about Henry not having anyone to cuddle, but listening to Bree's steady breathing was relaxing. Before I knew it I was dozing off.

  “Min?” I made a noncommittal noise in answer. “Do you think he hates me?”

  “Who?” I asked, thinking maybe she meant Andrej.

  “Henry,” she said. “Do you think he hates me because I stole you?”

  I patted her. “It takes a lot for Henry to hate someone. I doubt it.”

  She exhaled. “But it was pretty selfish of me, wasn't it? I was just thinking about how much I want you and I let you do all that stuff with me, and—”

  “I'm 99% sure he doesn't hate you,” I told her. “It's fine. Let's sleep.”

  I closed my eyes and put my head back on my pillow. I'd been on the cusp of falling asleep when I felt her lift her chin again.

  “But when you think about it, I am selfish and I am a thief, aren't I? Like I was getting really mad at Andrej for stealing Courtney, but I just went and did the same thing to you. So maybe when Andrej's like, 'You're selfish, Bree, you're a thief', there's—”

  “Bree,” I said, pushing her head back down on my shoulder. “You're not selfish, you're not a thief, and Andrej probably just wants to find reasons that quote-unquote 'prove' you're terrible person so he doesn't feel so bad about doing those things himself. You are not a bad person.”

  She was quiet for a minute, and I thought maybe she'd actually decided to go to sleep.

  I was wrong. “I am, though,” she said quietly.

  There was enough gravity in what she sai
d that I opened my eyes and looked down at her.

  “Can I tell you something awful?” I nodded. “It is awful, and I'm such a terrible person for it, are you sure you want to hear it?”

  I frowned at her. “If you want to tell me, I do.”

  She looked pained. “It's such a fucked thing to want, and I know that. But sometimes I wish Andrej would just die. Like, be hit by a car one day or something. I don't think I'd be upset.” At my silence, she said, “I told you it was terrible.”

  It was unexpected, especially from Bree. It was wholly understandable, though, just really sad that his death was the only escape route she could imagine. I'd thought something similar about myself last night. “You're not a bad person, Bree,” I told her, and hugged her tightly against me. “And I'm sure things will be better one day, and you'll be glad he's alive.”

  She sighed, and lay her head back down against my shoulder. “I used to tell myself that all the time, 'things will get better'. And, like, part of me remembers when we used to set up the backyard into, like, this killer assault course and play with super soakers together in summer, and how we'd always sneak down early at Christmas time together to look at the presents before Mum and Dad woke up. And this one time I accidentally killed the goldfish because I didn't know blue food dye was toxic and Andrej tried to scrub the blue from the bowl so I didn't have to tell Mum...” She was teary again. “And when I was like eight or something there was this guy down the road from us who used to tease me about my hair and Andrej ran up to him and pushed him off his scooter for it. Andrej always let me get the big part of the Christmas crackers and when we had roast chicken he'd always let me have the legs.” I could feel tears on my t-shirt. “It used to be different. Everything used to be different. And I keep hoping and hoping things will go back to that, but they just never do. And now I don't know if I even want him back or I want him to die.”