Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

by Lilliana Anderson

  “Mummy,” I cry, falling into her arms.

  “What is it, sweetheart? Did you lose your job?”

  “No. It’s Elliot. He’s an arsehole and we’re over.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry. He seemed so nice.”

  “Well, he isn’t. He doesn’t want me anymore.”

  She sits with her arm around me and listens as I sob out my story, telling her how stupid I feel to get my hopes up when Elliot told me he was falling for me. I feel even more stupid for believing the hype when I met his friends too. I thought he was different. I thought he cared. But he’s just like the others, unwilling to fight, too fast to turn away. He’s just as bad as David. What is it about me that’s so forgettable?

  “You were so happy when we had coffee. But I have to admit I was worried something happened when you came back that afternoon. I wish you’d told me how his father treated you.”

  “What difference would it make? Elliot does what he’s told. And I don’t fit the life his dad wants for him.”

  “Maybe I could have Katey talk to him?”

  “Oh, no. Please, no. I’m done with him, Mum. After this, I can’t take him back. He made his choice, and it isn’t me.”

  Thirty

  I spend the next week in mourning; moving through my life like a zombie, performing all of my necessary tasks while my mind focuses on nothing but my troubles.

  In a few short months, I’ve managed to drive away my best friend—my heart—because I chose a relationship with a man who dumped me at the first sign of trouble. I want to turn back time, get a different job and erase every nasty thing David and I said to each other. It may not have changed much, but at least we’d still be friends. I miss him the most. But there’s no turning back. We really fucked that one up.

  Each time my phone beeps I jump and grab at it, fiercely—naively— hoping for a lifeline. Each time I’m saddened when instead, it’s a text from my mother with information about dinner or her whereabouts, or my brother sending me a joke to try to cheer me up, and of course, there're the texts from Christopher.

  That cover band you like is playing the Irish on Wednesday. Thought you might like to know.

  At least I can manage to keep one guy interested in me, I think despondently as I look down at his carefully typed words. He never uses emojis.

  While I don’t expect a call or text from Elliot, I would like to find one. Just something small to say he’s sorry for fucking with my head and my heart. But I’m not holding out for that.

  I’d also like something from David. I feel bad for treating him ruthlessly when I saw him in the foyer at work. I feel even worse for reacting with shock when he told me he loved me. I should have been over-joyed. I should have been willing to take that risk with him. But I was scared. I was scared of it being true, and I was scared of finally being with him, and just like David, I was scared of getting too close and losing our precious connection. Now, everything is ruined with him, and it didn’t work out with Elliot either. I made the wrong choice, and I should probably tell David that. I should be brave and tell him how I feel. Especially since now, I have nothing left to lose. But my pride, and the fear he’ll choose Beth again stops me from trying. Turns out I’m a coward too.

  When I wake on Wednesday morning, I feel empty. And very swollen from another night spent crying and feeling sorry for myself. I go to the freezer and pull out an ice pack, wrapping it in a tea towel before laying back down to press it over my eyes. My mother makes me a cup of sweet milky tea—as she has been every day for the last week, saying it’s great for heartache—and leaves me alone again.

  “Why don’t you just quit that job?” she asks when I drag myself to the door to leave. “Get something closer to home with no boy drama.”

  “Because I won’t let them chase me away, Mum. Keep fighting, right?”

  She nods. And I force myself through my day, each movement like I’m pushing through wet cement.

  “Are you busy?” Carmel says as she approaches my desk.

  I close the update I’m working on and shake my head. “What’s up.”

  She looks around and talks in a whisper. “Andrew spoke to Elliot. It took a while because we couldn’t even say your name without him clamming up. But he admitted that his dad threatened to cut him off entirely if he continued to see you.”

  “Because I’m from Western Sydney?”

  She pulls her mouth to the side and nods. “Looks that way. He thinks you hitched your star to his wagon and were only after the family money.”

  “Ouch.” I can’t deny the burning sensation behind my eyes right now.

  Carmel squeezes my arm. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”

  “Thanks. It was over anyway,” I say, watching as she turns to go.

  The thing that hurts me most is that Elliot didn’t even have the decency to break up with me via a text message. He just left it all in the air, unresolved and hanging. I thought we had enough of a friendship that, at the very least, I deserved an ‘I’m sorry, but it’s over.’ I would have been upset. But I would have understood.

  Instead, he’s treating me like he doesn’t even know me. Like I’m no one. And that really sucks.

  Even training doesn’t help anymore. With my life in shambles, I don’t have the energy to put into it. I’m seriously considering giving up the sport altogether to focus more on uni and work. I need to change my life, do something drastic. It’s not working the way it is.

  My phone vibrates in my desk and I pull it out, my heart catching when I see David’s name on the screen. We should talk.

  We should talk? We should talk? What could there possibly be left to say? Is there a piece of my heart he hasn’t broken yet? Oh wait, maybe he’s getting married and wants to make sure I hear it from him first? That’d be fucking fantastic and just my luck. Elliot freezes me out because I’m from the wrong side of town, and David goes and marries a girl from the right side of town. It’d be the perfect ending to my stupid fucking life.

  I drop my phone into my bag, shaking my head at my bad luck.

  I should be happy he’s contacted me. I’ve been pining away, mourning the loss of our friendship for weeks now, and I wanted him to make contact. But now that it’s happened, I don’t want to go backwards. I don’t want to be the girl at home while he fucks someone else anymore. I don’t want to be his emotional catch-all held at an arm’s length.

  No more men, Katrina. They just mess you up.

  I’ve cried enough. I’m done with this constant rejection. I just want to… I want to forget them all.

  It’s time to reclaim my life.

  When I get home, I shower, do my hair and makeup and put on a nice dress before heading into the living area.

  “Where are you off to?” Mum asks, giving me a concerned look. “Please tell me you aren’t going on a date with someone new. My heart can’t take it.”

  I laugh and shake my head. My how her tune has changed. “I’m going to watch a band on my own. I’m taking back my life.”

  “By yourself? Why don’t you wait and see if Tom and Daniella can go with you?”

  “That’s the whole point, Mum. I need to start doing things on my own. I’ve always relied on someone. This is about becoming as strong as I’ve always thought I was.”

  “But you are strong, sweetheart. Just look at you. Look at all you’ve done.”

  “I need to feel strong. I won’t be late, OK?”

  “Be careful,” she calls after me as I leave.

  The band is already playing Nirvana hits as I push my way through the crowd at the Irish pub in Emu Plains. Heading to the bar, I order myself a different flavour for my brand-new path; a Midori, Bacardi and lemonade. The bartender shakes his head and tells me they aren’t allowed to serve doubles.

  “Oh. Then just give me a Midori and lemonade with a Bacardi shot on the side. Can you do that?”

  He nods and starts mixing my drink while I think it’s a bit of a dumb rule. Alcohol restri
ctions are getting tighter and tighter.

  “I’ll pay,” a familiar male voice says when my drinks are set in front of me. He hands a twenty-dollar note to the bartender and tells him to keep the change.

  “I know you told me about tonight, but I wasn’t expecting you’d be here,” I say as I turn around. “When did you start liking 90s music?”

  “I’ve mellowed out now I’m clean.” Christopher smiles, looking the picture of health. Dark eyes gleaming, skin tan and clear, his brown hair styled neatly. He looks good. Like I remember him in the beginning.

  “Why were you at the triathlon last month? Are you stalking me now?”

  He laughs. “No. I was supporting a friend and stuck around to see you race too. You looked good out there.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know if I’m feeling it anymore.”

  “What happened to the Olympic dream?”

  “I was never going to make it. I just wanted to qualify to try out. That was my goal. But I don’t know. It feels like a waste of time.”

  “Does this have something to do with the guy I saw you with?”

  I shake my head. “We aren’t dating anymore. But no, it’s not about him. It’s me. I just think maybe my time is up. There’s more to life than sport.”

  “Why don’t you come and watch the band with us? Brent and Abby are here. Remember how much fun we used to have before everything got so messed up? Maybe catching up with old friends will help change your perspective a little. Help you find that drive you had back when I knew you. And I bet they’d love to see you.”

  “I don’t think anyone can change my mind but thank you for trying. I’m going to pass, however. I think you can understand why I don’t want to hang around you.”

  His eyes soften. “I wish you could forgive me.”

  “I do. But it’s hard. Looking at you as you are now, I could almost forget. But every time I blink, my mind superimposes that look—the crazed animal you became—over the top of your face and I’m struggling.”

  “You know I’d never hurt you again though? You know it was the drugs?”

  “Yes. And logically, I can reason all of that out. But it’s like a PTSD that triggers when I look at you. I’m trying to keep my cool here, but I need you to walk away.” I can only stay calm for so long. The images from that day flit through my mind, faster and clearer the longer he stands in front of me.

  “Please,” he says, reaching for my arm. “Don’t let your issues with me stop you from coming to see Abby and Brent.”

  I snatch my arm back like it’s been singed with fire. “I need you to leave.”

  “Get your fucking hands off her.” Christopher stumbles back as David slams his hands into his chest, jumping in between us and shocking the life out of me.

  “David!”

  “I wasn’t touching her,” Christopher shoots back. “Fucking relax.”

  “I’ll relax when you fuck off. If it was up to me, you’d be in prison right now. So how about you take the win and get the hell away from her.”

  “What did you say to me?” Christopher demands, through clenched teeth, leaning threateningly toward David. Oh no.

  “I said, fuck. the hell. off you pussy-hating-woman-basher,” David growls, speaking close to Christopher’s face.

  “Stop,” I say, trying to get them to back down before this goes too far. But we’ve been through this before. People don’t change much, and Christopher never backs down from a fist-fight. Neither does David.

  “Fuck you,” Christopher spits, his fist connecting with David’s jaw with a sharp jerk.

  David’s head flicks to the side, blood and spit spraying through the air. But that doesn’t stop him, he returns the blow, a fist in Christopher’s gut, followed by a sock to the eye.

  Christopher roars. He lunges forwards, throwing his weight at David as they both go toppling to the floor, punching, kneeing and choke holding each other. The entire bar erupts into a cacophony of cheers, egging them on and placing verbal bets on who they think will win. I can’t even hear the band anymore.

  I scream for someone to call the police as I rush over and try to pull Christopher off David as he pins him to the ground, holding him by the face and smashing his head into the ground. All I succeed in doing is getting clipped in the cheek by Christopher’s elbow. I yelp as I stumble backwards.

  Brent streaks past me, jumping in along with some random guy I don’t know to hauls Christopher off David. “The cops are coming,” he yells in Christopher’s ear. “We need to get out of here.”

  I rush to David, dropping on the floor next to him as he lies there, covered in blood and laughing, of all things.

  Christopher grunts as Brent continues dragging him back. “Jesus, Christopher,” I yell. “I let you back in my life for five minutes and you beat the crap out of someone? I believed you when you said it was the drugs. But now I just think you’re a thug. Don’t ever speak to me, David, or anyone I care about again. The police are on their way and we will be pressing charges this time, mark my words. I let it go once, I won’t let it go again.”

  He looks at me, his expression falling, as he aggressively shrugs out of Brent’s grip. “Fuck,” he yells, before he books it, trying to get out of there before the police haul him off. I spot Abby in the crowd. She stops next to us on her way out and says, “I am so, so sorry that just happened.”

  “What’s a night out in Penrith without a fistfight or two?” I shrug, before I turn my attention back to David when he tries to sit up.

  “God, he hits hard,” he grunts, spitting blood on the ground beside him.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask softly. I’m not even angry. All of my anger evaporated the moment he hit the ground. He was literally fighting for me. Accepting a paper napkin from a girl at a nearby table, I hold it under his bleeding nose. “He could have killed you, then what would I do?”

  David sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just saw him near you and pretty much stopped thinking from that point.”

  I reach up and move his hair away from his forehead. “Do you think you have a concussion?”

  He tries to stand up, so I jump up first to help him. “I don’t know,” he says. “But I’m pretty sure he broke my nose.” The bleeding isn’t slowing down, so I grab more napkins to help stem the flow.

  “Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital and get you checked out.”

  We walk out to the parking lot together and get into my car, driving in silence to the emergency room at Nepean Hospital. There’s so much that needs to be said between us that the air feels thick all around.

  “What were you doing there?” he asked once we pass the plaza.

  “I wanted to watch the band. Why were you there?”

  “Your mum called me. She’s worried about you.”

  “I see,” I say, gripping my hands tighter on the steering wheel.

  “I’m worried too.”

  Stopping at the lights before the highway, I glance in his direction. “I’m just trying to live my life without you. It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  He shakes his head. “It wasn’t supposed to hurt. Letting go was supposed to be a relief. You were supposed to be happy.”

  “Well, like I told Beth to tell you: you were wrong.”

  He nods then we stay quiet until we arrive at the hospital. We’re sent through to triage fairly quickly where they assess the urgency of David’s wounds and decide to take him straight through since he’s bleeding quite profusely.

  I go through with him and sit in silence, while one of the nurses cleans him up then the police arrive to take our report. They speak to both of us, and assure us they’ll be bringing Christopher in. Then they leave and a doctor comes by to look at David’s face. It all takes so long, and we don’t get a chance to speak to each other until the doctor tells us he’s ordering some scans and we’ll have to wait to be taken to imaging.

  The moment we’re alone, David reaches over and takes my hand. I close
my eyes when he does. It feels like home. Don’t cry.

  “Why were you even with Christopher?”

  “I wasn’t. He found me at the bar. And we were talking.”

  “Did he know to find you? Is he watching you?”

  “No. I mean, he told me about the band, but since he always said he hated Nirvana, I wasn’t expecting him to be there.”

  “Wait. What? He told you about the band? When? How?”

  “Via text. He sends them sometimes. We don't talk though. I don’t respond. And I saw him at that last club triathlon at the Lakes. The one you were at too. He said good race, but I was with Elliot so I didn’t approach.”

  “You saw me there, huh?”

  I nod and run my thumb over his scratched-up hand. “I was really happy to see you. It meant a lot.”

  “Like I said, I still care.”

  “And now you’ve got a broken nose to prove it.” I offer a small smile and he laughs, wincing a little when the pain in his face gets the better of him.

  “I guess you needed a grand gesture, huh?”

  “To prove what exactly?”

  “Come here.” He tugs on my hand, pulling me towards the bed he’s on. I sit down facing him, and he keeps his eyes focused on my hands as he speaks. “I lost my mind today, baby girl.” He looks up at me, and I can see the pain in his eyes. “I can’t handle seeing you with any other guys anymore—especially him.” He reaches up and touches my cheek gently. “Does this hurt?”

  I close my eyes against his touch, feeling the warm familiarity of his fingers against my skin. My hope returns, a rose blooming in my chest as I hold his hand against my cheek and let a tear escape, my heart aching from missing him so much. I shake my head no, not trusting my voice to speak.

  He moves his thumb to wipe my tear away and sits up so his poor swollen face is closer to mine. “Trina…I will never be able to handle seeing you with anyone else because… because I want to be with you,” he whispers. “I want us to be together.”