Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

by Lilliana Anderson

  Paige

  “Looks like you finally pushed hard enough to chase him away,” Andrea comments as we exit the salon. This is the fourth day in a row that Elliot hasn’t been waiting for me.

  I press my lips together. “I think I’ve fucked everything up with him.”

  “You could always un-fuck it. He's obviously crazy about you. I’ve never known a guy to hang around outside a hair salon for weeks on end for someone who’s just a friend.”

  “I don’t know if I want to un-fuck it. I think maybe we’re better this way.”

  “Bullshit,” she blurts.

  “Excuse me?” I blink in surprise.

  “Bullshit, Paige. You’ve got it just as bad for him as he does for you. You’ve been a miserable bitch all week, and that frown of yours is driving customers away.”

  “Jesus, Andrea. Tell me how you really feel.”

  She lifts her brow giving me a stern look. “I just did. Sort your shit out. I want you smiling when you get to work on Monday morning or don’t come in at all.” With her chin in the air, she stalks off, leaving me standing in front of the salon with my mouth hanging open. Is she for real?

  Pulling out my phone, I contemplate exactly what I should do. Yes, I like Elliot. I like him more than anyone I’ve ever known. But I promised myself I’d never get caught up in a guy again. I don’t know if I can risk my fragile sanity.

  Why not have the best eight weeks you can have? Even if that’s all it is? It’s better than doing nothing, watching him leave, and regretting it for the rest of your life.

  Naomi’s words keep rolling around in my mind, her logic making it that much harder to stand my ground. We’re almost down to seven weeks. If that’s all I can ever have with him, maybe I could take that chance? I could have seven beautiful weeks where I let go of my past and have a holiday fling like one of those girls in Naomi’s romance novels. Shit. Could I do that?

  Pulling up the message app on screen, I text Naomi. Is Elliot home?

  I wait for a couple of minutes for her to respond, her answer the deciding factor in which way I go. I at least need to talk to him.

  No not yet, she replies.

  Letting out a nervous breath, I put a call through to his work.

  “City Point Club, Celsey speaking,” answers a girl with an American accent.

  “I was just calling to ask if Elliot Roberts is working this evening?”

  “Yes, he is. Would you like me to see if he has time for another client?”

  “Um, what time would that be?”

  “He’s booked up until seven thirty.”

  “Ah, that’s probably too late for me. Thanks for your help though.”

  “No problem,” Celsey says, as I disconnect the call and work out my timing. If I leave now, I’ll get to his work in time to be waiting for him for a change.

  Elliot

  As I exit the building that houses the City Point Club, I’m more than ready to go back to the flat and veg out with a movie for a couple of hours. Based on the whiteboard this morning only Shane, Paige and I are due home for dinner. I might even get the chance to sit and talk with Paige alone. I don’t know, this extra couple of hours hasn’t really given me any clarity on the subject. I’m still as torn as I’ve ever been.

  “Elliot. Wait up!” a female voice calls out the moment my foot touches the pavement outside. I turn, seeking out a face I might recognise and notice one of the girls I trained this afternoon smiling and walking toward me. “Are you finished for the day?” she asks, as she stops in front of me. She has a tiny figure with long wavy caramel coloured hair and large brown eyes. Although, I can’t remember her name.

  “Yeah, I’m just headed home,” I reply, smiling politely at her.

  “Could I interest you in maybe grabbing dinner, or a drink?” she asks hopefully, adjusting her hair and smiling brightly at me.

  Clearing my throat, I look up at the building, feeling awkward as I work out my reply. “Um, sorry, what was your name?”

  “Kerry,” she responds quickly, a slight blush rising in her cheeks.

  “Right, Kerry. Thanks for the offer but I’m expected elsewhere tonight.”

  “Oh, how about tomorrow?” she pushes.

  Pressing my lips together, I reach out and touch her arm to rebuff her gently. “Listen, I’m sure you’re a lovely girl,” I start.

  Paige

  As I walk towards Elliot’s work, I spot him standing outside talking to a tiny girl who’s obviously flirting with him. Crap. My heart hammers against my breastbone as I witness him smile and reach out to touch her arm. No way. I’m not letting this happen. In that moment, my rational mind leaves my body, and I find myself standing boldly in between them, behaving like a woman scorned.

  “Who the hell are you?” I practically spit at the tiny super-pretty girl with her beautiful hair and perfect body.

  Elliot cuts his head towards me and frowns like he’s not sure what I’m doing here. Truthfully, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I seem to have lost my mind somewhere along the way.

  “Paige? What are you doing?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the tiny girl I hate squeaks out in her annoyingly cute voice. “You have a girlfriend. I should have known you would.”

  I stare her down as Elliot frowns at my behaviour. “Uh, yeah,” he says, placing a hand on my upper arm. “Thanks for the invite though.”

  He drags me away as I make the ‘I’m watching you’ sign at her before she goes bright red and skitters away.

  “Who the hell was that?” I demand, tugging my arm from his grip.

  “Paige, what are you even doing here?” he asks, his voice calm as he searches my face for answers.

  “Well, I’m sorry. I was trying to be nice and meet you at work for a change. I haven’t seen you all week. But I didn’t realise you were staying late so you could pick up,” I bite out.

  “What the fuck, Paige?” he demands, confused. “I just knocked her back. Right in front of you.”

  “Whatever, Elliot. I saw you touching her arm.”

  His eyes flash. “Are you serious? I was trying to let her down gently. She’s a client. This is my work. I can’t be a bastard and tell her to fuck off because I’m crazy about a girl who hates that she likes it when I touch her. That I’m not even sure how to behave around her now because I’m afraid of adding to her hurt.”

  “I don’t hate it,” I whisper, closing my eyes in a fight to make my internal defences let me open up to him. “This…this is hard for me, OK? I haven’t been close to anyone for years…and I…I’m just not sure how to do it.”

  “I don’t want to push you, Paige. But, I feel like time is slipping away. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  My mouth opens and closes as I fight to find something to say. “I don’t know either,” I force out.

  He looks up to the heavens for an answer as he sighs and chews the side of his lips. “Let’s just go, OK?” he says, as he puts his hand on the small of my back and prompts me to walk in the direction of the train station.

  The return of that simple touch is more beautiful than I can bear, and I have to pretend to brush my hair out of my face to catch the tear that escapes from my eye.

  Elliot

  We travel home in virtual silence, both of us inside our own heads attempting to work out how we're supposed to be together. One thing I know for sure is that I’m out of my mind crazy for her. She keeps pushing and pushing at me, and I just stand there, taking every single blow because I can’t be the guy who walks away from her. I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll go home and come back if I have to.

  “Finally,” Shane says when we come through the door. “I was just about to call you both. Dinner’s almost ready. I made pasta.”

  Still without a word, Paige and I move straight to the kitchen and get drinks, bowls and cutlery out to set the table while Shane strains the penne and mixes it with the sauce.

  I don’t think I’ve sampled S
hane’s cooking before; it’s um…interesting, and I’m doing my best to eat it without grimacing.

  “Uh…Shane, what did you do to this pasta?” Paige asks, seeming more relaxed than she was earlier as a smile plays on her lips. She’s poking at a clump of penne stuck together, only half cooked.

  “Man, I don’t know. I put it in boiling water and cooked it for ten minutes like the pack says, but…”

  “Did you stir it?” she asks.

  He sits up in his chair and looks at her, pressing his lips tightly together as he thinks. “Nah. I don’t think I did.”

  “Well, there’s your problem. You have to stir it a couple of times while it’s cooking,” she tells him.

  He nods his scruffy blond head, slowly committing this new information to memory. Suddenly, the theme music for ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ cuts through the quiet of the room.

  “My butt’s ringing,” he says, shifting in his seat to remove his phone from his back pocket, leaving the table to take the call.

  Paige watches him walk into the lounge room, before she turns to me. “She will kill him if she ever hears her ring tone,” she comments, referring to Shane’s girlfriend, Coral. She seems like a nice enough girl; she's just a little full on, I guess. She likes to know exactly what Shane is doing at all times, and despite joking that she’s a ball and chain, Shane is thrilled to jump whenever she calls.

  I study Paige for a moment, amazed at the change in her demeanour. She seems so much happier now we’re back at the flat. Like this is her sanctuary.

  “Are you going to eat that?” I ask Paige, who is doing little more than poking her food around in circles. I can’t pretend to eat this food anymore and put my fork down.

  She opens her eyes wide and mouths ‘NO’, as she shakes her head from side to side.

  I glance at Shane, who has his back to us, and grab the bowls, quickly dumping their contents into the bin before he has the chance to see. When he walks back into the kitchen, I’m already at the sink busily washing out the bowls.

  “Listen guys,” he starts, “I need to give the movie a miss tonight. The girlfriend’s in a bit of a tizz, so I’d better go and sort things out with her.”

  “What’d you do this time?” I ask.

  “Nothin’. She’s upset I’m leavin’ soon. Wants me to extend me visa, but there’s no time for that. Processing time is like, eight to ten weeks.” There goes that idea. “Anyways, I gotta go.”

  Paige

  Shane grabs his jacket and keys then heads out the door, leaving Elliot and me alone in the house for the first time since I started living here.

  For a moment, I watch him from where I’m sitting as he moves around, cleaning the kitchen. He’s such a kind and beautiful man, and I feel bad for leaving things so ambiguous between us. Still, I can’t help feeling happy just being around him right now.

  Rising from my seat, I decide I should help him by drying the dishes. He smiles gratefully at me as I take the first one from the strainer, but he doesn’t speak. He seems lost in thought as we work together, quietly and comfortably, side by side.

  Leaving the tea towel on the bench top, I pick up the pile of dry dishes to return to the cupboard, bending from the waist to slide them into place. As I right myself, my breath catches in my chest when I find him looking at me, his eyes so intense that I feel frozen in place. Reaching for the tea towel, he dries his hands, before he stops what he's doing and turns his whole body to face me.

  “What’s your tattoo of?” he probes, dropping his eyes to my waist height.

  “What tattoo?” I reply nervously, a lame attempt to deflect.

  “The black and orange one that occasionally sticks out from under your shirt. I saw it on the plane when we first met, and I’ve seen it a couple of times when you’ve leant forward. What is it?” He steps closer to me, a solemn look in his eye.

  My skin tightens as I imagine the tattoo’s giant wings, hugging me for strength. My sweet girl. “It’s…” I shift uneasily under his gaze. “Uh… the markings of my misspent youth. It’s a phoenix.”

  “A phoenix?” he repeats, his voice low and rumbling, caressing even, as he steps closer.

  My breathing quickens as I nod quickly in response. Suddenly, I’m feeling light-headed. Taking a step backwards, I try to gain a little distance between us, but that only puts me up against the cupboard behind me.

  “Elliot don’t,” I whisper watching him stalk towards me. He stops right in front of me, his body brushing up against my own and sending little spirals of longing shooting through me. He’s so close that if I lift my head, we’ll be kissing.

  “Can I see it?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

  “No,” I breathe out, closing my eyes and trying to focus on keeping calm. His lips brush mine lightly, and I let out a whimper. I'm torn between my body’s impulses to pull him towards me, and my brain’s insistence that I stay away from him. Then all of a sudden, nothing.

  Letting out a shaky breath, I open my eyes, feeling both relieved and bereft to see him standing at the sink again, washing up as if nothing happened. I decide to take my cue from him and walk back over to continue drying up. Holy fuck.

  “I’ll do it,” he says, a slight thickness in his voice. “You go choose a movie.”

  I pause and look at him, warring with myself about how I want to deal with this. I can walk away right now, let whatever this is between us go without ever having to deal with it. Maybe if I push him away one more time, he won’t come back...

  The thought creates a heaviness that weighs down my chest, making it hard for me to move. It feels as though my decision now—whichever one it is—will change everything between us. I don’t want to push him away, even though it would be better for us both if I did.

  This can’t end well.

  Despite the fact my better judgement keeps screaming at me to stop, I do something that makes me terribly nervous. I reach out and place my hand on his arm to get his attention, ready for whatever comes next…

  Elliot

  Besides when I forced her to shake my hand on the plane and paid her to cut my hair, Paige has never reached for me willingly. It’s always been me reaching for her. That’s why, when she does, it makes my heart ache from not knowing it until now.

  “Elliot,” she ventures, her hand still resting upon my arm. “I’m sorry, OK. I haven’t shown anyone the tattoo. Ever. Well…besides the artist, of course. But…” Her hands drop to her sides with a slap. “God. I'm ruining this, aren’t I? There’s something special here and I can’t seem to stop myself from fucking it up.”

  Drying my hands again, I turn to face her, meeting her amber eyes as they brim with tears, her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth opens like she wants to speak but the words won’t come. Her eyes dart from side to side as she clamps her mouth shut and presses her full lips together in a thin line. I say nothing, watching her beautiful face run a gamut of emotions.Disappointed however, when none of them are conveyed to me.

  Leaning with one hand on the edge of the sink, I glance down at the floor and clear my throat. I don’t know what it is she isn’t telling me, but it bothers me that she doesn’t trust me enough to confide in me. I’d hoped we were moving past this, but I have a feeling she’ll forever be an enigma to me.

  “Paige, what is it you want from me?” I ask point blank. It's time to lay our cards on the table or I’ll go crazy guessing.

  “I…I don’t know,” she stammers out.

  “I think you do,” I whisper, reaching out to gently touch her cheek. She quivers under my fingertips, and when she closes her eyes, a single tear escapes, sliding down toward my hand in a bright trail of emotion. Brushing my thumb over the tear, I wipe it away “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

  Paige starts shaking her head and squeezing her eyes tighter. “No, Elliot,” she breathes. “You don’t want me like that.”

  When she opens her eyes and stares into mine, hers are so full of anguish that I ache along wi
th her, desperately wanting to take some of that pain away.

  “But I do, Paige. I want you so much that my body aches and I can hardly breathe. I don’t give a fuck about your past, or the reasons you think you’re not good enough. I want you. Just as you are.” I lean in a little closer. “What do you want from me?”

  “I…I can’t.”

  “You can. Say it, Paige. Say what you want or I swear to you, this goes away. I will walk away from you.” I feel like an arsehole the moment the words leave my mouth. But I need to know. No matter the cost.

  “I can’t.” She shakes her head.

  “Say it,” I insist.

  Her eyes flash bright and her lips tighten, a frantic moment of thought and risk.

  “Say. It.”

  She takes a breath and closes her eyes. “You, Elliot. I want you!” she yells, putting her hand on her face before she steps away from me. “But you don’t want me. You can’t. Because I’ve done things, Elliot. Terrible things. I’ve hurt people. I've used people. I….Oh, god, I can’t do this…” She shakes her hands, agitated, blowing out a calming breath before she continues, placing her palm over her forehead. “The tattoo.” She meets my eyes, folding her arms protectively across her middle. “It’s a huge reminder of everything I never want to be again. And because of what I was, I don’t get to have someone like you. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve anything good. I'm not supposed to be happy,” she cries, breaking down. “Can’t you understand that?”

  Tears burn the backs of my eyes, my chest aching. I’ve never witnessed anguish like this. And I feel like an absolute bastard for bringing it out in her. Taking a couple of quick steps, I close the distance between us. I can’t fix her. But I can hold her. I can refuse to let go.