by Max Henry
“You too, Belle. Don’t be a stranger.”
I pull away with a shake of my head and open his door to head down the hallway toward the entrance. His family continue to chat at the outdoor table, oblivious to the fact I leave. I slide my shoes on and let myself out, mentally planning what I’ll do when I get home as I head for the car.
My time with Damien wasn’t all wasted. Our relationship may seem pointless at first glance, but what I learnt holds more value than what staying single would have achieved.
You can’t force love, and you also can’t make do with second best. If your heart belongs to someone, then there’s no point in trying to change that. Love can be taught, love can be learnt, but in order to do so you have to feel it.
And with Zeus, I feel it.
SIXTEEN
Zeus
Most normal people spend the days off before they start a new job relaxing. Me? I turn my frustration at not being able to progress with the Barracuda until the new parts arrive into renovating my goddamn house.
The afternoon breezes by, my focus intent on getting the kitchen painted so I can peel everything back and use it to cook dinner. I don’t realise what the time is until the sun sets and I find myself squinting to cut the final coat in around the cabinets. The brush balances precariously over the tin, my hand hovering after I set it down just to be sure the damn thing isn’t about to catapult itself off and splash my floor with paint. Satisfied I’m not about to start some artistic feature on the tiles, I head over and turn the overhead lights on.
The lights. A few weeks ago, I would have cringed at the intrusion, rushed over and smacked the fuckers off again to hide out in the cold, comforting dark. But already the Belle effect has taken hold. Fuck—all she has to do is be in the damn country and my mood lifts.
Things have never been right with her overseas, never felt… complete. I battled with the ability to justify what I did, to the point I broke and fell into old habits. But shit—what if I struggled to reason the split with myself because it was never the right thing to do?
Yeah, Belle appears to have done well. She achieved everything she set out to do. But where does that leave me? Where does it leave her? Why the fuck isn’t her boyfriend here?
Whoever the arsehole is, he doesn’t deserve her. Nobody deserves her. Not even me. But the point of difference between that cunt she dates and me is clear: I need her.
I came to the conclusion after talking with Jodie that I should figure out who I am, without Belle, in order to figure out where to go from here. But that’s just it. Without her… well, fuck, there’s nothing. I can’t see life any way but with her in it, and that, I realise, is exactly why I’ve struggled to make any headway these past three years.
I’ve been doing what I’ve been told is right, not what comes naturally. I’ve pushed back against gut instincts and the result has been a fissure in my state of mind.
The man I am, the man I want to be—they aren’t anything without her. And yet here I was, trying to be “complete” without the one essential ingredient: Belle.
Why the fuck do I still allow the opinion of her father—the guy who made it clear I was expendable when he found what he needed in a new woman—to govern what I do with his daughter?
Why the fuck do I still fight my natural instincts?
I take a few steps sideways, centring myself opposite the kitchen as it dawns on me what I’ve done. Subconsciously, I’ve given Belle her dream home—the one she would talk about when I first bought the place.
There’s your answer, motherfucker.
In a mad frenzy, I shift the paint pot, and then peel the tape off the areas that are already dry. The drop cloth billows as it slides to the floor under my frantic hands. I snatch up my phone and scroll through the pictures in our message thread until I’ve found the one I want.
Holy shit.
In my left hand, a dark grey kitchen with matte black handles, the accent done in a deep charcoal that could almost be passed off as black too. In front of me, drying, is almost the exact same thing: grey cupboards, black handles, and darker grey accents.
I haven’t looked at this picture since she sent it three years ago. I’ve put off updating the old chipped décor for years, and now? Why did I do this now?
I flick to the camera and take a picture of the newly painted room. Should I? Fuck it, why not? The image uploads and the little blue tick changes to a solid circle beside it.
Jodie told me I should speak to Belle to lay what was to rest, to figure out how to move on with my life. I might not have seen my dove in the flesh yet, but I fucking know without a doubt that doing so wouldn’t give me any great moment of clarity.
I already know the answer.
I’ve struggled to move on, because there is no moving on. Why force something that doesn’t fit? Why deny what needs to be said?
My phone pings in my hand, and my thumb flies over the screen to wake it up.
B: It looks amazing.
Well, I fucking know that. But….
Z: Do you like it?
Her reply is almost instant.
B: It’s your house, Zeus. Doesn’t matter if I like it or not.
I can almost hear the passive aggressive tone she uses.
Z: It’s OUR house, Belle. I slouch against the counter as I type out what’s probably the pivotal message for us. I bought this house with you in mind. I live in this house with you still on my mind. You belong here. Fuck what anyone says. Fuck what anyone thinks. This is OUR house.
I tap Send and stare at the screen until it goes black. She’s seen it, but her dots didn’t dance. I’ve either scared her away, or she’s taking her time to word her answer. I fucking hope it’s the second option, because I’m fucked if I’ll let her bolt when the going gets tough.
Three years without talking to her, three years without seeing her, but I know what we had. I know how Belle felt because I felt it to. What we shared? You don’t forget that shit. It was once in a lifetime love, the sort you can’t force with somebody else. You either have it or you don’t, and me and Belle, we had it. Fuck did we have it.
Fuck her boyfriend.
I wake the phone and send one more message. One that, if I haven’t managed to already, will without a doubt break through whatever walls she has up.
[heart + dove]
SEVENTEEN
Belle
“You’re home early.”
I stare at Dad as I ditch Sharon’s keys on the kitchen bench. “It’s eight o’clock at night.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”
I follow him as he takes the two coffees in his hands through to the living room, setting Sharon’s down beside her.
“Thanks for the loan of the car.” I give her a smile as I drop onto the sofa. “I refuelled on my way back.”
Also spent an hour at a scenic spot, flat on my back atop the picnic table while I contemplated life, death and every damn subject in-between. I didn’t realise how much time had passed until Zeus’s message came through.
He’s painted his kitchen how I envisioned. If that didn’t sway me, then the way he signed off gave me the last ounce of resolve I needed to follow my heart and set things right.
“Anytime.” Sharon gives me a smile as she sets the book she was reading in her lap. “How was he?”
“Surprised.” I look between the two of them, my expression enough to make Dad reach for the remote and mute the TV. “I split up with Damien.”
“What?” Dad says at the same time as Sharon asks, “Why?”
“We’ve been distant,” I explain.
“Understandable when you’re a world apart,” Dad says.
“It’s not just recently.” I close my eyes, brow pinched. “Always.” I reopen them to find Dad confused and Sharon concerned. “I don’t love him.”
“I’m sorry,” Sharon offers, shifting out of her armchair to sit beside me.
I look to Dad as she takes my hand. “I c
ouldn’t love him, Dad. I still love Zeus.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, top lip tight. “This again?”
“Zeus sent me a message the week I got back,” I confess. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get mad at him.”
“I told that fucker not to get in touch with you. I told him to stay away.”
“He has stayed away,” I press. “The contact has been civil. Just chatting about tattoos and stuff.” And a love that never died. “I want to see him, but I wanted to tell you first.”
“Why?”
“John,” Sharon says. “Let her state her piece without making her feel bad for doing so, would you?”
His gaze softens as it falls on the woman beside me. I might be clutching at straws, but I’d almost say that in that moment he realises what love is, and that he can’t deny how I feel—only state how he does.
“I don’t want you to see him,” Dad says flatly.
“You can’t just ban me—”
“Ah.” He holds his hand up to stop me. “It’s not up for discussion, Belle. I know you two love each other; I get that. But he’s seventeen years older than you,” he stresses. “That brings complications with it neither of you can deny.”
“I don’t care about the complications.” Sharon tightens her hold, thumb stroking my hand as my distress becomes clear. “Don’t you get it? I tried to move on. I tried to do what you wanted and found a guy my age. And it didn’t work. I was bloody miserable with Damien because there was no passion. No spark. Nothing.” I take a moment to gather myself, pulling in a deep breath as Dad silently stews. “I didn’t need him.”
“You don’t need Zeus either.”
“I do.” I drop Sharon’s hand, rising to my feet. “Why can’t you accept that?”
Dad stares across to the front windows, seeming to refuse to carry on the conversation.
“Ugh.” I let loose a frustrated growl and storm from the room.
I can’t be around him when he’s like this: stubborn and arrogant. Why can’t he let this go? What will it take for Dad to realise that no matter what I do, nothing will change my mind when it comes to Zeus?
“Belle?” Sharon’s soft call pulls me from where I stew, seated on the back step. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“No. Please.” I pat the step beside me.
She settles, legs out straight before her as she stares at her hands atop her knees. “I think you need to give your dad time to adjust, is all.”
“He’s had three years to adjust to the idea.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “Not really, love. If you’d stayed here, never met Damien, then I think he would have had three years to adjust. But from what your father tells me, he set that notion aside when you called to tell him you were moving in with a boy.”
She has a point. I’ve dropped the bombshell on Dad right after telling him I broke up with Damien. I might have known for a long time that this was coming, but as far as an outsider looking in was concerned, I was happy in my new relationship.
I’d left Zeus behind.
“I won’t let it go,” I tell her. “I’m not under any illusion that I haven’t got work to do as far as repairing things with Zeus goes, but Sharon”—I turn to face her—“he told me he still loves me in those messages. He said he never stopped. I can’t ignore that when I feel the same way.”
“No, you can’t.” She pats my knee. “But you also have to acknowledge how this looks to anybody who doesn’t know that.” She sighs. “You’ve broken up with your partner of however long—two years, is it?—and now you’re chasing down the man who you left behind in a cloud of controversy. It doesn’t look good, no matter what the story behind it is.”
Hell—it doesn’t.
“What do I do, then? I need to tell Zeus how I feel.”
“Why?” She frowns.
Why? “Because…” I hesitate, having not really thought about it until now. “I’m afraid if I don’t then he’ll move on.” How two-faced does that sound? “Oh my God,” I moan. “I’m such a mess.”
Sharon chuckles, hand rubbing my back. “No, darling. You’re just young and in love.”
EIGHTEEN
Zeus
Fire races down my spine as I wait for somebody to answer the damn door. If I checked right, Belle will be at work late since it’s a Monday night.
“Oh. Hi, Zeus.” Sharon pulls the door wide, gesturing for me to come in. “I just got in, so your timing is perfect.”
Yeah, I know. I watched her drive up the road.
“John far away?”
She frowns, turning her head slightly to one side. “Everything okay?”
I haven’t stepped foot in his house since we came to blows over Belle. I’m surprised Sharon remembers my name, considering we’ve only met once at the pub.
“I think so. Just got a couple of things I want to discuss with the old boy.”
She makes a little hum, pointing to an armchair as she crosses through to the kitchen. “Drink?”
“No. I’m good, thanks.”
She returns empty-handed and seemingly unsure what to do with herself. The relief is almost palpable when the faint rumble of John’s work truck dies in the driveway.
“Here he is.” She paints a wide smile, but I’m no fool.
She’s wary of me.
Don’t blame her.
“Hey,” John greets with a frown as he walks in the door. “This is a surprise.”
The sorry state of our friendship summed up in four words. How the fuck did mates as close as we were end up in the “I’m surprised to see you” category?
“Hoped if I dropped by on my way home you’d have time for a chat.”
His brow furrows. “Sure.” He drops his work jumper on the back of the sofa—the one I first had Belle on—and glances to Sharon. “Do you need Sharon to step out, Z?”
“Totally up to you.” I flatten my lips, hands clasped before me.
In a strange power play, I seem to have the upper hand. Here I am relaxed in the chair while the two of them stand stiff, eyeing each other for help.
“I can go read,” Sharon offers.
John nods, giving her a chaste kiss as she passes by. He shifts his focus back to me once she’s out of earshot.
“Before we kick this off, I’m telling you now I’m not interested in another fucking fist fight.”
I smirk, amused that he’s cottoned on to the purpose of my visit so quickly. Well, I guess there’s not much else that I’d be here for these days, is there?
“Neither am I, mate. I’m simply after a civil conversation between two gentlemen.”
He shakes his head with a laugh. “You’ve always been fucking trouble.”
I shrug. “Leopard can’t change its spots.”
“So,” he says with a sigh as he drops into the free armchair. “How bad is it? She told me you two have been in touch over Messenger. Have you seen each other as well?”
She has? I shake my head. “No. As much as you might struggle to believe it, I wanted to respect your wishes.”
He narrows his gaze. “Why are you here now, then? I already told her last night how I feel about the whole thing. She got you trying now, too?”
What the hell has Belle been up to? I’ve had nothing but silence from her since I sent that last message, so to hear she’s beaten me to the punch with John…. Maybe I did break her with those two simple emoticons?
“I’m here because now I can’t really give a fuck what you think as long as Belle is happy.”
His face turns to stone, eyes hard as he scowls at me. “She is happy.”
“Is she?” Because the girl that messages me, the woman who seeks a connection with the man she knows she’s not allowed to see—that girl isn’t happy.
His nostrils flare, hands flexing on the arms of the chair. Tone it down, Z.
“I’m sorry; I’m being an arsehole.”
He grunts in agreement.
“But in
all seriousness, I want you to know that I asked Belle to do a tattoo for me. Whatever happens when I see her, it’s her life, J. She’s a grown woman now and although she cares what you think, it shouldn’t dictate her life.”
“You seem awfully sure that she’ll be happy to see you.”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
He sighs, feet shuffling on the carpet. “I still think you’ve got blinders on when it comes to what’s best for her.”
“Why?” I’m sick of this whole you’re-too-old shit. Sick of people thinking they know better than the girl herself.
Belle is the only one who knows what’s best for her. Nobody else. Not even me.
“I hate to bring it up like this,” he says, “but what if—by some stretch of the imagination—she ended up with you and wanted kids? Have you thought of that?”
Stab me right in the heart, why don’t you? “Cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess.”
“It’s a pretty important bridge.” John holds my gaze, stoic, as Sharon re-enters the room.
“Sorry.” She smiles softly. “I’ll only be a second; getting a drink.”
“No,” John barks, holding my eye as he does. “Stay. Zeus is leaving.”
Huh. “That how you’re going to deal with this?”
He leans forward, Sharon hesitant behind him. “You welcome yourself into my house so that you can tell me you plan on seeing my daughter, fucking with her head enough to get her twisted up in you again, and you expect me to sit here and take it?”
Sharon steps forward, resting a hand on John’s shoulder. He leans into her touch, seemingly calmed.
“I don’t plan to fuck with her head, J. And if she chooses to get twisted up in me, then that’s her decision. All I want is for you to let us make our own mistakes.”
“She’s my daughter, Z,” he says quietly. “My only child. It’s my job to protect her.”
“Maybe you’re being a little too protective.”
He sighs through his nose. “When what you’re proposing doesn’t seem to have anything but pain for her, then yes, I am being overprotective.” He runs a hand over his face. “She was a mess after you called it off. I don’t want to go back there again. I don’t think she needs to revisit that time in her life.”
