Entwine

by Rebecca Berto

  “And Alyssa? The hell, Malik. You can’t imagine how much it hurts.”

  “Excuse me sounding rude, but I can. My wife, the love of my life, and my everything, at the time broke my heart. She left me alone, and I was this person with nothing left. I haven’t come here to launch into a string of denial claims. Alcoholism will always be the part of myself I have to keep a lid on, and hold locked down. I was fine when we met. Fine for years.

  “But then I met you. I didn’t realise I needed all of you to myself. And that has made my last week the happiest since … since I can’t remember being that happy, it’s been so long.

  “I can barely stay here with you, knowing I’ve hurt you somewhat, like I’ve already been hurt. I hate her. I deal with her, but I do not—in any way—have feelings for her. You have to trust me.”

  “I did. I really did. But maybe what you told me was the insecurity of a reflection deep inside you that you haven’t acknowledged yet. I’ve never thought about anything other than being with you.” Sarah pushed back, and faced the train tracks again. “So maybe it’s you who has to think if you ever really wanted me, or the idea of me. Maybe you suggested what we are, is nothing more than a whirlwind, because it’s what you really believe. You need to do some thinking if you don’t understand why you did what you did with your ex. As you once said to me, this isn’t a game to me. So don’t play me around.”

  “I meant it.” His lips pressed in and his chin quivered. It wasn’t that he was about to cry. More like, Sarah could picture him, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around her legs, his cheek pressed against her thighs in desperation. “I feel nothing for her.”

  “Excuse me for doubting that.”

  He shrugged, nodded, downcast.

  “If I can’t trust you, and you don’t know what’s going on with why you did what you did last night, what hope do we have?” She threw her hands in the air.

  Sarah stood. She had nothing more to say, and didn’t want to risk his grovelling changing her mind. He held out his hand to hold her, but she stood back.

  “I’m sorry. What about what we did just before? You can’t say that wasn’t incredible.”

  “It was, but we’re too compatible, yet incompatible. We do what we feel, not what we think we should. And right now, we need to think.”

  “Let me make it up to you. Properly. I love you.”

  “Please, Malik. Don’t react. Think about this. It’s not just you who’s been hurt badly before. I need you to be sure, and trustworthy. At the moment, I’m not sure why you said you’d never lie to me. Seems like a thin promise now.”

  Sarah walked down the platform and up the steps to take the train back. She didn’t turn, didn’t hear Malik follow, and didn’t know where to go from here.

  At least he still respected her wishes above his own wants—which hurt her like a heel thrust into her throat.

  PARENTING

  NOW

  Sarah drove home, feeling like her body and mind were in two different places. She felt like an empty shell, but tucked inside her head was a load of pain and betrayal, so great that she wondered why her body was made to make her feel so low. The train ride had passed neither fast nor slow, the drive was peaceful and uneventful, and when she stepped into her house, it was quiet, save for some rattling coming from the kitchen.

  Sarah dropped her handbag beside the entryway and rushed up to her room. She didn’t want her mum seeing her dressed like this, or to start talking and asking things before she was ready. In her room, Sarah stripped her jeans, top and her make-up. She re-dressed in drawstring pants, a tank top, and piled her hair in a bun on top of her head. Still hearing the fan from over the stove and her mum bustling around in the kitchen, she headed there. Now ready, she figured some of her mum’s baking had to help. Even a little bit.

  “Sarah!” her mum cried. “Hi.” She swallowed and licked her lips, turning down the heat and resting the wooden spoon in the saucepan. “It’s just Bolognese sauce, to store away for when we make pasta.”

  She flapped her hand, like it wasn’t anything to worry about. She leant over the kitchen bench and motioned for Sarah to sit down on a stool. Sarah sat, glad to be able to sit somewhere and not feel like she was in a spotlight.

  “Coffee, juice, water?”

  Sarah salivated, thinking of something to drink. It was too early for something as bland as water, but she could definitely go some juice. “Any OJ?”

  Her mum came back with a full glass. It was the pulp type, and Sarah relished the tangy taste of the orange juice and pieces, closing her eyes and gulping it down in one go.

  “Do I have Drunk Sarah or Hungry for Breakfast Sarah?”

  “Well I’m not drunk,” Sarah said.

  Her mum turned and took out a fry pan, eggs, and some rashers of bacon. She kept her eyes low, out of range of running into Sarah, which spurred Sarah to sit up and think. Damn, she realised, just now, that she’d insinuated she was hungry for breakfast, but that wasn’t only it. Her mum pushed a plate with bacon, eggs and toast toward her, with a side cup of refilled OJ.

  “Thanks,” Sarah said, pushing around the food with her fork. Her tummy grumbled, and it looked delicious, but she wasn’t ready to eat yet.

  “Something on your mind, Sez?”

  Sarah looked up and nodded, a frown still playing on her lips. “First, how was your date?”

  Her mum broke out into a grin. Friends? Yeah, right. It was definitely a date.

  “Might see him again,” her mum said, smirking. “He isn’t in debt, has two kids but is a widower, has a steady job and doesn’t do drugs, or anything else especially weird or stupid. On top of that, he’s devilishly handsome, made me laugh non-stop, and even pulled out my chair for me to sit down first and took my coat. I think I hit the jackpot.”

  “Sounds good for you.”

  “Well, we’re very alike, yeah, but he’s a sales rep. He travels overseas for about two months of the year. And he comes from old money, but he’s a great guy for me in the ways that count.”

  “I wish I had that,” Sarah mumbled.

  “What?”

  Sarah fluffed her hand in the air. Time to eat the breakfast her mum made for her. She cut up the bacon and forked it a few times, piling it up, then stabbed some fried egg, too, pushing the stack in her mouth. Mouth bulging, her cheeks flushed as she looked away from her mum’s gaze.

  “Were you okay last night? I stumbled in to bed around midnight. I’m sorry I didn’t check on you. But I keep my Big Mumma panties on, and try to give you space.”

  “No, you’re fine, Mum. It’s me. You’d think I’d be smart enough to know who to trust.”

  “You do.”

  Her mum signalled for her to wait. She turned off the stove, poured the Bolognese sauce into a few small tubs, and stored them to the side to cool. She came to sit next to Sarah, resting her elbows on the bench. “Now …”

  “Yup …”

  “Was it Malik? Or your dad?”

  “You have it out for the men of the world.”

  “Wrong. I have it out for your dad, who’s a boy who can’t control his urges. I’m concerned for you and Malik.”

  “I trusted him, worried myself stupid yesterday and then stalked him, anyway. Well, I thought I was being insecure and silly. That was, until I found him kissing Alyssa on a ‘family movie night’ out with Lucy. They were touchy and all over each other. When we spoke this morning, he said he didn’t even realise he had drunk, let alone drunk that much, and didn’t really remember kissing her.” Sarah waited for her mum’s reaction, but she was still listening. “What a load of crap! He obviously still feels something for her, and is obviously in denial with himself. He was so sincere when he said he wanted me in his life, seriously, and he said he didn’t think of her or feel for her one bit.”

  Her mum reached out and touched Sarah’s hands. She wanted to slap her away, slap away anyone who wanted to feel sorry for her or help. There was no helping. Her instin
cts had betrayed her, and so had Malik. Nothing could make this better. But Sarah let her mum squeeze her hand. Within seconds, it soothed her, and she smiled. Her mum knew her better than she knew herself.

  “For what it’s worth, when I saw him for a moment that day, and from what I’ve heard of him, he’s an honest, incredible man. Nothing like Alyssa. To be honest with you, I’m surprised he did that. That’s a 180 from what he said and how he acted with you, and from what you’ve told me. Sometimes there are ratbags who seem sincere, and you fall for them. Later, you realise you should have noticed. Sometimes, the ratbags are blatantly honest, and you know to stay away.”

  Her mum shook her head, appearing to think before saying her last piece. “But sometimes, things happen that don’t make sense, and even later, after much time, they still don’t make sense. Don’t rush into any decision, on either end of your thoughts. Just take some space and think, re-assess. Time is the only thing that works sometimes.”

  “Time is also a frickin’ killer.”

  Her mum rubbed her shoulder then pulled her in to kiss her temple. “The best things in life can come with baggage.”

  Sarah sat there while her mum cleaned up, and then moved on to somewhere else. Sarah sat, motionless, just staring at an insignificant spot on the wall in front of her, until her bum was numb and she had to move on, too.

  HEALING

  NOW

  For days, Sarah was like a tumbleweed in the wind. She didn’t have a purpose to her methods, she just accepted and did what she had to—work, clean, a coffee with a girlfriend—without her heart engaging with anything.

  She found a package addressed to and waiting for her when she checked the mail, after work. Weighing it in her hands, she knew it contained something heavy, like the weight of a brick, but dispersed thinner.

  The bills and other envelopes could wait. Sliding them across the bench, she hugged the package to her chest then laid it on her bed. Sarah pulled the tab and opened it up, peaking in to see a black … a black book?

  As she slid it out, the realisation of what it was made her inhale.

  She smoothed over the hard cover, feeling the texture rough under her touch, and gripped her fingers on the edge to peel it open. There was a photo of Sarah. She remembered the shot. It was from her twenty-first, and to this day she didn’t remember who took it, but her friend, Brittany, sent her a load of shots, and Sarah put this one as her profile picture on Facebook. In it, she had on a sombrero and was clutching a tequila bottle with its own mini sombrero lid. She remembered what she felt like when she laughed at that point, giddy from drinking, and happy, without a specific reason to be.

  Now, looking at it in this album, she touched the photo, feeling a jolt of emotions as if it had sparked an electric shock. Did he pick it because the alcohol symbolised something deeper? Or did he pick it because he could tell how free and happy Sarah seemed?

  She flicked to the next page to find a sketch. Lucy had drawn—Sarah assumed, from the darted and jagged pencil lines—her dad, with a crown on him. The scrawled writing spelt “Malik”, and next to it, a slightly less awful, and less childish drawing—somewhat between a stick figure and a full sketch—was a woman with long, mocha brown hair, grey eyes and a little tiara of her own.

  Sarah smiled, noticing the differences in the drawings that Malik had drawn of herself.

  She flipped the page to see a shot of Malik’s and her heads pasted on the body of Jason Statham and his heroine in his arms. There was a caption reading, “Just want to be your perfect man.” And when she flipped the page again, a professional shot of Crown Casino had been taken at midnight, with the blazing columns and shooting flames atop, taped down.

  She flipped and flipped. There was Malik when he was Sarah’s age, in the gorge, rolled on the floor with dirt caked over him, and his mates pointing and laughing, blurred in the background. There was one of the most gorgeous pair of pink heels Sarah had ever seen.

  Finally, there was a makeshift pocket attached to the last page. Sarah tipped the book upside down and shook it. Photos fell out, but before she looked at them, she knew which ones they were.

  They had big paper numbers sticking up from them, so she picked up number one, smiled sadly at the action shot from when Sarah had entered the booth and was staring at Malik’s lips, saying something she couldn’t remember now as the first shot had snapped.

  The back read, in Malik’s penned words, “I want to give you the space you deserve”

  She picked up number two and continued, “because you’ve given me love, life and laughter in a world where I didn’t believe in that perfect trifecta anymore”

  Now, her heart had sped up, and she scrambled for the third, though it was just in front of her. She read, “Although you’re the first and last thing I think of every day, and I can’t forget the way I let my past ruin the one perfect thing in my life, you …”

  Sarah’s eyes felt heavy and bulging with tears when she started reading the last one, “… I love you enough to give you this wish, even though you’ll always be entwined with my heart, no matter if you cannot take me back.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Sarah couldn’t lift her head from the bed. She sobbed into the pillow and wanted to call him up. She wanted to tell him what she was feeling. But couldn’t, due to the enormity of her range of feelings—elated, hurt, excited, sad. So she clutched the ends of her pillow to her face, and scrunched it to sink her head into.

  The pain in her chest was heavier than she’d experienced before. It was as heavy as wearing winter clothes in the deep end of a pool, as hot as a searing fry pan, and sharp as the moment a needle inserted through flesh.

  She nudged the album up with her toe, too helpless and heavy to move, and met it with her fingers to pull it closer so she could see. She flipped through each page, and forced herself to hold back her tears.

  Maybe Malik truly did love her. Everything Sarah had thought she’d known shattered in that moment.

  Her dad had seemed so in love with her mum for every moment until she was sixteen, that night. She would have never picked what he was going to do to their family.

  Lust and skin-deep attraction brought Sarah and Malik together, and they’d formed a sexual relationship almost as quickly.

  Yet.

  Yet all those years, Sarah had acted in a certain way because of what her dad did. Made sure she wasn’t silly enough to let a guy rule her world. Made sure no guy made her weak and stupid. Made sure she didn’t let any guy into her heart, because they couldn’t be trusted, not absolutely. All those years, she’d thought she was smarter than other girls who got their heart trampled on.

  But Malik was fighting for her love, even after they’d begun their relationship on lust and sex. He’d been the last one she expected to fight for her feelings.

  Her dad never did.

  Her mum never showed her how to be happy and move on.

  Nicholas didn’t come after her after the break up—just disappeared to Sydney, another state.

  But Malik was showing her he loved her enough to give her space, even if that meant letting her go from his life completely, but was reminding her he was there, and cherished every single moment they had together, no matter how short.

  She texted, “Thank you for everything, Malik.”

  She went to quickly reply, hoping he didn’t take it the wrong way—thank you for the gift, or thank you for the time we had together—but in the end, she didn’t even know which one she meant.

  DISCOVERY

  NOW

  A month later

  Sarah made it without talking to or seeing Malik. During her days, the editorial team had thrown not just piles of work at her, but headache-inducing tasks from authors who were always late or sloppy with their manuscript submissions. A friend she’d made there told her the manager was impressed with Sarah, and knew she could handle stuff older employees couldn’t. So Sarah worked hard, and dealt. She got there at least half an hour earlier to find
some quiet time to catch up on emails and got started before work, had just a twenty-minute break for lunch instead of an hour, and then left whenever she’d finished her work. She knew employees who worked hard got promotions; if the manager recommended it and Sarah wanted to climb all the way to the top role of lead editor someday. Maybe she could, in just a few years.

  But that night she came home and saw her dad’s car parked out the front of her house, and it started a domino effect.

  She hadn’t seen her dad since the surprise visit and pregnancy announcement. That was the day she’d worried about Alyssa’s motives and nature. Soon after, she went out with Malik and they kissed. Sarah was left heartbroken.

  Malik. She remembered his name, meaning “King” in Arabic, and how hers meant “Princess” in Hebrew, and the moment they simultaneously thought how perfect for each other they were; just another reason on top of a long list.

  She shook her head, slammed her car door and locked it, as she stalked to the front door. She wouldn’t let men like her dad or Malik get to her. They were both ill-fitted for someone like Sarah, who wanted men in her life who cared for and looked after her. And stayed.

  “Sez, darling,” her dad called. “Come, sit down. Your mother and I were just catching up.”

  “Catching?” Sarah paused, waiting. “Up?”

  Her dad nodded, Sarah noting how damn happy that smile was. Not good. “Come, sit. There are more biscuits here, and a pot of tea if you want.”

  “Nah,” Sarah said, purposefully taking a chair down from her father, leaving a space between them. “I’m good. Really.” She looked at her parents.

  Her mum rolled her eyes. “Your father was wondering if we had any cash. Would you believe that?” Contrary to her words, she also seemed damn happy, but Sarah noted quickly that she was mocking her dad.

  “Cut to the chase. What’s going on, you guys? I haven’t seen you in a month, dad, and now you turn up for cash?”