by Max Henry
“Odd.” Who takes their sibling along on a trip with their fiancé? “Would have been a bit crowded.”
“Not really. She left them alone most of the time.”
“And what, hung out on her own?” I frown at him. “That’s a bit harsh.”
His brow twitches, Adam’s apple bobbing before he shifts his gaze back to the device. “We all got along, so she wasn’t alone much.”
I push to a seated position and cock my head. “Who all got along?” He better fucking say the entire tour group.
His brown eyes flick to mine before he taps to the next picture. Mystery girl features in that one also, so he taps frantically until he’s back at simple, uncomplicated scenery.
“Tell me the truth, Damien.”
“She’s no one. I spent two weeks with them, Belle. I’m about to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Are you?” I slide off the bed, repulsed by his proximity. Because if how I feel right now is anything to go by, he’s just cemented my whole reason for being here.
“Stop being silly and come look at the rest of the pictures.”
“I don’t want to see photos of your fucking holiday without me,” I grit between clenched teeth. “I came here to see you. I came here, curious if my boyfriend would be happy to see me. I came here because while you’ve been off trekking around Alaska, I’ve done some soul-searching of my own.”
“Belle—”
I lift my palm. “No. Hear me out. This”—I gesture between us—“is a waste of time. I know that, and you know that. You tell me you want to make things work, that you’re committed to ‘trying’ with me. Well news flash, Damien, you shouldn’t have to try. Did you ever stop to ask yourself why you were happy to keep travelling without me?”
He doesn’t answer, rather pushing himself up to a seated position as he frowns at me.
“Admit it,” I whisper, begging despite my pride screaming at me not to. “You don’t want forever with me. You never wanted forever. You just wanted somebody to save you from feeling lonely while you were overseas.”
He sighs, eyes averted. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Well you did. And you know what? It hurts more that you’d continue to lie to me, to waste my time and yours, because you didn’t want to admit you made a mistake.”
“I didn’t make a mistake,” he argues. “I met you on the plane and everything clicked. You made me laugh, and I knew you were heartbroken, but I figured that would pass. I thought you were it, Belle, because no girl had made me feel that at ease.” He runs his palms over his thighs. “What I misunderstood was that the way I felt, the comfort around you… those feelings were platonic. I didn’t find my lover, I found my best friend.”
A lump forms in my throat. He may as well be explaining my emotional journey. I thought I could heal my wounds with Damien. I thought I could force love and leave the pain behind. But nothing worked.
“By the time I realised,” he continues, “I thought you felt something deeper.” He shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “Shit, Belle. We never argued. If you’d got up me a few times I might have figured out you were confused too.”
“But I was too perfect.”
“You were too happy. Content.”
He really didn’t know me. All that time together and we’re no less strangers than we were that first day. I take a deep breath, the weight on my shoulders already lighter. “You don’t need to be afraid of telling me the truth anymore, because I’m saying it for you: I don’t love you. I never could.”
He nods, swallowing. “I’m sorry this is how it came to a head, Belle.”
“I’m sorry we let it get this far.”
The stress visibly drains from him also as he stands to walk toward me, and takes my hands in his. “I’m still glad I met you on that plane. I wouldn’t go back and change that, even if I could.”
“Me either.” To my horror, I cry. Years with this guy and he never gave me cause to feel as strongly as I do now. I pull him into my arms, relieved when he gives in and hugs me back. “Best of luck, okay? Whatever you decide to do.”
“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 couldn’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.
&nbs
p; 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.
